


One Year Later: A Heart on a Warpath

by mosslover



Category: Poldark - All Media Types, Return to Treasure Island (TV 1996)
Genre: Kissing, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Post-Break Up, minor injury, new developments, new revelations, stubborn dorks, there is hope for these two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2018-09-23 20:08:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 37,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9674156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mosslover/pseuds/mosslover
Summary: A year should have been enough time to get over Ross. It wasn't. And then Jim learns something that brings everything right back...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For winter FRE, prompt 141 - Break-up
> 
> Huge thanks to dandelionpower and trex for all the help and for being amazing <3

Jim slammed the patient chart on the counter, muffling a curse and tugging on the stethoscope that shifted too far down one of his shoulders and threatened to slip off. He ignored the startled gaze of the new nurse that just walked by; the smile she conjured as she looked up him faltered and fell when she encountered Jim’s stormy expression. She’d been making sweet eyes at him ever since coming to work here, but Jim didn’t have the heart to tell her that his compass was calibrated in a different way. Maybe some kind, gossip-inclined person on this floor would feed her that particular tidbit of info? The sooner it happened, the better.

He threw a disgruntled look down at Flint who sat behind the counter, typing on the keyboard and fiddling with a chart. “Please tell me that I don’t have any new patients until after lunch?” 

Flint grinned at him, the cruel bastard. “Did I sprout wings and a halo while you were down the hall? Because I don’t know why else you’d think I can suddenly do miracles.” He snorted at his own joke and picked up a file, shoving it towards Jim’s chest. “Room 5 is ready for pre-op. Silver’s patient. It’s a kid, you’re good with them, so get on it...”

Jim groaned in exasperation at the mention of Silver, the same day surgery department’s most mercurial doctor. His fingers closed around the plastic chart automatically, and he scanned the first few lines of the filled-in patient info. A kid… Jim sighed. He liked working with kids, he could make almost any of them relax before they were wheeled into the OR, but some of the parents made him want to crawl up the walls and scream. He hoped this time they would be a bit more sensible. Or at least that they would actually care about their child so he wouldn’t feel like he needed to kick their ass.

“You’ve failed me again,” Jim said to Flint, letting a little flare of drama seep into his tone. “This Friday needs to fucking fast-forward or I’m going to murder someone...”

“Ever so cheerful,” Flint tssked. “You should remove that stick out of your ass and come out with me and the guys tonight. We could hit one of the clubs, grab a few drinks, get hammered…”

“That’s the last fucking thing I need,” Jim snorted, eyes still on the clipboard, now going over the patient’s medical history. “Be shut in the same space with a bunch of drunk sweaty idiots. I’d rather poke my eye repeatedly with a needle.”

“Wow, just wow,” said Flint, eyes glinting. “You’re so far up in your head I’m surprised you can still see out of your eyes. I’m starting to think that what you really need is to grab one of those sweaty drunk idiots and let them poke-”

“No, thank you,” Jim cut him off. He’d gotten to the bottom of the paper, then flipped it to check the other side. “I’ve had it up to here with idiots, I don’t need any in my free time.”

“Fine, spinster, we’ll have fun without you,” Flint said, raking a hand through his short-cropped brown hair so that it was mussed up just right. “Let me know if you change your mind…”

Jim raised an eyebrow. “No chance in hell. Well, I guess I better go get the kid ready. If I come back and you have another chart for me, I’m going to bite your head off, just so you know.” He let the page fall back down and looked at Flint one more time before turning on his heel. “Maybe then at least you will lay off on the dubious life advice...”

“What life?” Flint shot after him, and his chuckle followed Jim down the hall. “I didn’t know you had a life…”

 

Jim steeled himself as he approached the pre-op room. He wouldn’t let this get to him. He wouldn’t let this day and Flint’s would-be-funny remarks bring him down, or at least not any further down than he already was these days as if that was his new default setting. So maybe he was extra grumpy today, but who could blame him? It had taken one look at his phone this morning while shutting off the alarm to know what day it was - as soon as he saw the date on the main screen’s calendar.

Fuck. He’d hoped by now that this wouldn’t affect him. That he wouldn’t remember, that he’d finally wake up and not feel that awful weight that was chained around his heart and mind like a lead anchor dragging him down. That he’d finally lose that feel of something missing from his life that should be there, that could be there if it hadn’t gotten all warped and messed up. But yeah… it’s been a year since Jim’d felt right, felt great, since he’d woken up happy.

It’s been exactly a year since Ross had left.

And it still fucking hurt. 

Sure, the pain was not that sharp, breath-stealing shock wave of the first few days, cresting and receding periodically in the weeks that followed. No, that pain had settled under his stomach as a dull ache that persisted, and despite not quite having that cutting quality anymore, it was still surprisingly strong a year later. Surprisingly there. 

Jim had always prided himself on being rational and in charge of his emotions, but when it came to Ross, all that had flown out of the window. Jesus, he’d loved the guy. They’ve had such amazing times together... and they’ve had their problems. They argued over Nampara, which Ross had inherited in a state of complete ruin; they argued over where to live, over small and big things once they moved in together, but they had, Jim thought, been in love, and just waking up next to Ross made Jim happy. But then Ross up and left, just like that, without warning, without a word, and it wasn’t after a huge fight or anything, it was just a normal day and when Jim got home Ross was gone.

It fucking hurt.

Ross had left a written message, saying he didn’t want to make Jim unhappy and that he had to go and fix up Nampara and turn it into a little B&B and he knew Jim thought that was crazy, that he should just sell and not sink a fortune in it, but Ross felt like he had no choice. 

He didn’t pick up any of Jim’s calls.

 

Jim stood in front of the door, staring at the blue plastic sign with a white number five and its corresponding braille equivalent. There was nothing for it - the patient waited and Jim had to put on his cheerful, reassuring persona for a kid who was going to get his teeth operated on at the age of four. Jim could do this, he was a professional and had a willpower as strong as a sixty-year-old elephant’s memory, but sometimes he still got the urge, in the middle of nowhere, to get the hell out of here and track Ross down and shake some sense into him. 

Because Flint was right. Flint knew Jim’s history with Ross, and knew he didn’t really have a life. He had work, and after work he had martial arts classes and one-person meals and TV and then, on most nights, the oblivion of sleep. And a string of miserable mornings.

 

The kid was not more frightened than usual while Jim got him ready for the operating room; his parents, however, made Jim want to strangle them with his stethoscope. The mom was largely disinterested in her offspring, preferring to spend the time leafing through a tabloid; the dad pissed Jim right off with an inappropriate joke about how weird it was to have a guy nurse and how he wasn’t sure what to even call Jim? 

Jim quipped that ‘nurse’ or ‘Jim’ would do or that the guy didn’t have to call him anything, keeping his tone measured and what could be still called polite if one squinted with both eyes. Though secretly he wanted to stuff his latex gloves down the man’s throat and watch him choke. He restrained himself, as usual, and was satisfied enough when they wheeled the kid off to OR with just mild whimpering and a shaky smile about how cool it was gonna be to see the inside of the operating room and that not many people had that chance, and how the kid could brag about it later to all of his friends.

The feeling of accomplishment made it slightly easier to bear when Flint handed him three more charts in the course of the next few hours, and this along with the patients in post-op made Jim’s afternoon fit to burst. If he’d started the day moody, by the time he took the last chart back to the front desk, he was afraid now he had angry puffs of steam emerging from his head. 

Or maybe not, because cute new nurse chose that moment to walk up to Jim with a shy smile and said, “whew, that was a long day, huh?”

She tucked a strand of red hair behind her ear, looking just a tiny bit nervous, and Jim’s heart went out to her for her courage even if he couldn’t help her.

“Like all of the damn days here,” he answered, tempering his grumpiness a little and shooting a half warning, half accusatory glance at Flint who sat in his chair on the other side of the counter, the littlest of smirks forming in the corner of his lips as he copped on to what was happening here. “You’ll get used to it.”

“Yeah?” she breathed. “I guess… but I can’t wait to be off tonight and just relax…”

Jim sighed inside at her tentative approach. Should he put her out of her misery once and for all? He didn’t feel like coming out to her just then, though, and if he would have to, maybe he didn’t have to do that before she declared her hand and actually asked him out. Which he felt she was about to do. 

“So, are you doing anything tonight? I was wondering if… if you maybe wanted to get a coffee, or a drink?” she said. She looked at him with shiny hopeful eyes and Jim noticed that their color was almost identical to Ross’ - hazel with hints of chocolate and amber - and dammit.

“I can’t, sorry,” he blurted out, and she startled, taking a step back like a wounded doe. He extended a hand to her, laid it on her forearm to soften his words as he spoke in a lower voice. “I just - broke up with someone recently, and I’m not… Sorry.”

“Okay,” she said, her face falling and her eyes losing that sparking light, her expression skewing towards embarrassed. “Sure, yeah, I understand.”

She turned and walked off as swiftly as she could and Jim closed his eyes, rubbing a throbbing vein on his temple. “What the fuck?” he said, giving Flint a helpless look.

“Poor girl,” Flint sympathized, though a snicker could be heard underneath his tone as well. “No one filled her in yet on your… preferences?”

“You can fill her in for all I care.” Jim suddenly felt like he’d had enough. This whole day… this whole year had been one string of stupid moments and no relief and right now he was ready to try something different than just going home and moping and falling asleep in a cold lonely bed. He narrowed his gaze at Flint. “You still going out tonight?”

“Hell yes,” Flint grinned from ear to ear. “You want to get smashed after all?”

Jim’s jaw tightened with resolve.  
“I think I do.”

 

Five hours later, Jim was inside one of the new clubs on Murrey street, watching a growing crowd of heaving bodies thrash on the dancefloor as he sipped on his vodka tonic. Flint and his friends were standing around him, talking and cackling, and it was oddly nice; Jim ascribed it to the fact that most of the people around him were not as sweaty and drunk yet as they could be, though most of them were trying hard to get there. And he was working up a little buzz himself, which meant that his tolerance for the noise and chaos was growing slightly with each of drop of alcohol that seeped into his bloodstream. 

He and Ross used to go out when they first met, though they were mostly pub-goers, talking forever over endless pints. Once in a while they strayed into a club though and when they drank enough, they danced; if Jim closed his eyes, he could summon a memory of what it felt like to have Ross pressed against him on the dancefloor, the music going through him like he was made of it, the exhilaration and thrill of the rhythm and motion and desire all blending in a potent mix…

It would inevitably make them break out of the crowd at one point and take a taxi home, Ross mumbling to the driver that he’d pay extra if the driver closed his eyes at the speed limit signs; or they’d just find the nearest abandoned alley and crawl down each other’s throats like it was the last time they’d get to do this.

Which, well, one of those times, it was.

Jim’s eyes snapped open and he downed the rest of his drink. Damn you, Ross, for always creeping right back into my thoughts. Damn you for getting so deep under my skin that I don’t think I’ll ever get you out… Damn you for fucking off to Cornwall, hours away, and wiping me from your life… Damn you, just damn you.

He broke off from Flint’s group, striding to the bar and barking an order for another cocktail. In the bar’s mirror, he caught a stranger’s gaze and feeling annoyed enough with himself for being stuck in the past, he returned it boldly. The man was dark-skinned and dark-eyed, curly hair framing a handsome face; Jim gave him a raised eyebrow and a hint of a smile and then paid, grabbing his drink and dropping a tip onto the bar.

Flint glanced at the drink in Jim’s hand with a grin when Jim rejoined the group. “I see you’re taking your mission seriously,” he commented. “About damn time you loosened up a little…”

“No fucking kidding,” Jim murmured over the rim of his glass. He caught sight of the man from the bar crossing his field of vision, and their eyes met briefly again when the stranger turned. There was a spark of interest in the dark eyes, the look just long enough to convey it, and Jim took another sip in hopes of fueling it. Maybe this is what he did need. A little diversion. Falling into bed with a hot stranger, letting things go for a while…

A flash of desire went through him, but on its heels arrived a memory of Ross, of an alley and a eager hand up Jim’s shirt, teasing, playing… A dance of hips, want, rush, closeness, daring to touch… It was the first time they stopped walking around making eyes at each other and actually touched and kissed, and things got quickly out of control and ended with a night at Ross’ place that didn’t include any sleep whatsoever. 

Jim rolled his eyes at himself. He’d never move on if he kept letting Ross rule his thoughts like that. It was maddening, this inability to forget; it was driving Jim crazy, it has been for a year, and he wanted to be done. If Ross didn’t want him anymore, maybe Jim should finally let the fuck go of him and have a little bit of fun. He deserved it…

He downed the second vodka tonic and shoved the glass at Flint, who gave him a curious look as he took it. Jim strode to the dancefloor, closed his eyes, and started working up a sweat.

When he opened his eyes again, it was because a low voice spoke next to his ear. “Hey.”

For a second, it sounded like Ross. Jim opened his eyes, his heart going frantic, but it was dark and handsome from the bar, smiling down at Jim. He was tall and broad-chested from up close, white shirt stretching over expanse of muscle. Jim shoved the thought of Ross from his mind - it put up a bit of a fight - and gave the man a feral grin. “Hey.”

That was all it took. They danced, no words, just moving together. It was nice. 

But it didn’t feel the same. 

At some point Jim closed his eyes again, feeling the man’s hand just above his hipbone as they both followed the beat, letting the music rule them.

 

They ended up at the bar some time later, getting reorders and Jim downing a glass of water along with his drink. They talked; Jim would have liked to call it flirting, but it was too heavy-handed for that and he found that those questions about where he worked and what he liked to do for fun bored him. His eyes strayed around the club; it was full now, people coming and going and the dancefloor overflowing under the flashing, sparkling lights. He laughed at something the guy was saying - Jim had to admit that he’d somehow forgotten his name - when he saw someone standing by one of the tables, someone whom he hadn’t seen since he and Ross had broken up; it sent a jolt through him, sobering him up in an instant.

It was Verity, Ross’ cousin.

She was wearing jeans and a cute top, and a sash that proclaimed ‘bride-to-be’. A little tiara was stuck in her dark hair that curled at the ends, and she was surrounded by a group of chittering, giggling, tipsy friends. 

She had a lingering smile on her face, like a leftover from a joke someone had told a minute ago, but her eyes were serious and she was looking directly at Jim.

He hesitated and then gave her a little wave, overcoming the surprise of seeing her here. And on her hen-night, it looked like? Did that mean her and Andrew were getting married? If yes, he’d be glad for her. He liked Verity; they got along great, she and Ross being the most sane of all the Poldark clan. At the family gatherings he and Ross attended over the two years of their relationship, she was the one who always sat with them, her and Andrew, and that always made those evenings not just bearable, but enjoyable. The rest of Ross’ family had gotten smaller over the years, first Verity’s father and then her brother Francis passing away unexpectedly, leaving just Francis’ widow Elizabeth and his great-aunt Agatha. And little Geoffrey Charles.

But he’d always liked Verity the best of the lot. 

She returned the wave, her smile at first widening but then it wavered and something passed through her face - hesitation? Worry? Uncertainty? He couldn’t quite catalogue the expression of hers, but it infused him with a sense of strange premonition. Did something happen? Why was she looking at him like that - it couldn’t be because he was drinking with someone else, it’s not like it was him who had walked away from Ross but the other way around - was there something that he didn’t know, or was their good rapport a thing of the past? 

He turned back to the tall dark man, Damien, was it? Shit… maybe. “Um, will you excuse me for a minute? I just - spotted someone I need to talk to,” he said, jumping in when the guy finished asking Jim about what belt he had in Jiu-jitsu. 

“Sure, yeah, I’ll be here,” Damien said, casting a glance past Jim’s shoulder. “Who is it?”

“A… relative, of sorts,” Jim answered reluctantly, then took a swig of his water and headed for Verity, hoping she wouldn’t mind him disrupting the fun on her big night. But not speaking to her would be rude, and besides, he was genuinely happy for her and congratulations were in order. 

She was already on the way to meet him as well.

“Jim,” she said, and that uncertain smile hovered under her slim nose that ended with a rounded tip as she scanned his face. “What a surprise to see you here, how are you?”

Jim smiled back. “I’m fine. I see I need to give you my congratulations - you and Andrew?” he asked, gesturing towards the sash wrapped around her torso.

“Yes,” she beamed. “We’re getting married next weekend, but it’s going to be in Lisbon so my friends wanted to take me out before we leave.”

“That sounds fantastic,” he said. “I’m happy for you two.” Andrew was a great bloke; he was serious and steady and seemed to really care about Verity.

“Thank you,” she said, and then her smile faded a tad. “I miss seeing you around.”

“I always had a good time with you and Andrew,” Jim said, then gave a non-committal shrug. “But, well. Nothing I can do…”

“About that… Have you heard anything about Ross at all lately?” Verity said, eyeing him with careful eyes now. The name, out in the open, hit Jim like a punch to the chest, and he tried to cover it up.

“No,” he said. “I haven’t heard from him at all… Or about him. Is he…” He wanted to ask if Ross was alright, but didn’t feel like he had the right, and neither did he want to make it sound like he cared too much. “Is he still working on fixing Nampara?”

“Yeah,” Verity said, her expression no less careful or watchful. “He is. It’s slow going, what with... Anyway. So you haven’t heard anything at all?”

Jim shook his head, and a sudden feeling of dread came over him. “No. Nothing since the day he left, except for a half-assed note. Is everything alright?”

“Oh Christ, Ross...” Verity sighed, adjusted her tiara, then looked back at her friends who by now were paying a little bit of attention to the fact that their soon-to-be-married friend was having a chat with another fella. That amused Jim, but there was an undercurrent of worry in him now. Verity wasn’t one for dramatic overtures; if she hesitated over telling him something, she had to have a good reason. Jim’s mind poised itself to go through various scenarios of what it could be; he reined it in. 

“Hey, Ver, whatever it is, I’m sure it can wait for some other time,” he said. “I think your friends are starting to worry that I’m gonna steal you before your wedding, go have fun.”

Verity chuckled. “That’s hilarious… let them wonder, I’ll tell them later...” She grinned at her group and gestured for them to not fret, then turned to look at Jim again, serious. “I’ll have plenty of fun, don’t worry. I just… I think you should know?”

“Know what?” Jim said, the dread settling in deeper. 

“What exactly did Ross tell you when he left?” she asked, eyebrows drawn together in concentration. The frown a mirror image of her cousin’s. 

Jim huffed. “Nothing, except that he felt like he had to fix Nampara and he didn’t want to make me unhappy by making us do a long-distance relationship for something I didn’t think he should do… in a nutshell.” He had to be loud to be heard over the music and Verity finally tugged on his arm and said, “let’s take this outside, I can hardly hear you.” Jim let her pull him past the table of her friends to whom she merely announced that it’s a “family matter” and when the girlfriends still looked dubious, Jim added, “I’m gay, for christ’s sake.”

Their eyes widened in mild surprise and then Jim and Verity were off, walking out into the warm spring night. 

Verity found a metal bench under a blooming tree and straddled the seat, Jim sitting down across from her with a leg pulled up in front of him. He tried not to let on just how much he needed to know where she was heading with this line of questions, but he tried to look casually interested a little longer.

Verity cleared her throat and said: “That’s all he said? When he left.”

Jim nodded. “Listen, we had our arguments, but I didn’t expect him to just walk out. I didn’t think we’d gotten to that point, but looking back… I should have been more understanding of what he wanted to do. I didn’t realize how much Nampara meant to him, and how much he wanted to see it fixed..”

“Yeah,” Verity nodded. “Did he mention anything else, any other reasons?”

 

“No,” Jim said simply.

“Anything about his health?”

Jim frowned, the dread seeping into new areas of his body and mind. “His health? No. What’s going on, Verity?”

“Look, I don’t know if you even care anymore? Maybe… maybe it’s all the same to you, if you’ve moved on… I wouldn’t blame you. But the way he - I’m still - it shocked us all, you know? You two were so in love, it seemed, I still can’t believe you’re not together, and -”

“Believe me, I’m still shocked too,” Jim said wryly, in a quieter voice. It was maybe a little bitter, but he couldn’t help it; he looked up at her, no longer hiding his concern. “Verity, what’s going on with Ross?” 

She eyed him, as if making a final decision on whether to divulge the news or not, as if gauging whether Jim should know or not. “He didn’t mention that his leg was getting worse again?”

Jim frowned. “No. I noticed he was limping a bit more but he’d been driving back and forth to Cornwall a lot so I thought it was that…”

Verity grimaced. “Well, that probably didn’t help.”

“So what is the deal?”

“Apparently, the damaged nerves were giving him trouble, and he says now the doctor’s been telling him for a while that if he doesn’t have another operation on it or take it easy, he might end up losing the use of his leg from knee down one day soon and end up relying on crutches.” Verity bit her lip, thoughtful. “He is being stupidly nonchalant about it, but I know it bothers him. And he still keeps on doing all the construction work on Nampara, probably making it worse. And when I confronted him about it and asked how long he’d known this, he mentioned something about an appointment in May of last year and that’s when you two broke up, so… I wonder if he said anything at all.”

“Jesus.” Worry and realization shot like cold arrows through Jim, and at the same time hot anger gripped him. “He didn’t say anything about that. He had an appointment early May, but all he said after was that there were ‘no changes to speak of’.” Jim closed his eyes momentarily, mind racing. Was this one of the reasons Ross had walked out? Stubborn, proud idiot… Why hadn’t he said anything? Why hadn’t he confided in Jim? “I can’t believe he didn’t tell me…”

Verity stayed quiet for a minute, and Jim could tell she was seething inside about the scope of her cousin’s pigheadedness, probably on the same level of intensity as he was. Or so he thought, before she said, “Well, it gets better, Jim. Because these leg problems are, I suspect… I suspect they are also one of the reasons why he’s decided -”

She hesitated again, and now all of Jim’s radars were going off with high-pitched warnings. No less because Verity now wore a look of such utter disdain that Jim was sure he wouldn’t like what she had to say one bit.

“He’s decided what?” he asked.

She looked almost apologetic as she continued, as if any of it was her fault. “Well you know, after Francis died, he’s left Elizabeth with a lot of debt on Trenwith… And the hotel isn’t doing so well, what with the chain hotels driving prices down and all… Well. She’s been desperate and Ross has felt that someone has to provide for Geoffrey Charles and the best solution that he was able to come up with was that he and Elizabeth will -”

She paused here again, swallowing and shaking her head, fidgeting with her bride-to-be sash. Jim hung on her lips as if waiting for a verdict, heart hammering away in his chest. He knew Ross felt responsible for Elizabeth’s fate after Verity’s brother Francis failed to beat his drinking problems and died in a drunk driving accident, leaving her with a lot of debt from his gambling. He wondered if Ross has decided to take on Trenwith as well, which could be a financial disaster for him to spend money on Nampara along with Trenwith if he bought off the big house. Or had Elizabeth and he made some other sort of deal? From Verity’s reluctance to explain, it had to mean something serious and possibly quite disadvantageous for Ross, but -

Verity sighed, her shoulders falling as she spoke. “He and Elizabeth are planning on getting married.”

If Jim had been shocked before that night, this nearly pulled the ground out from under him. He grabbed the edge of the bench and stared at Verity in horror. “They are what?!”

“Three weeks from now, after me and Andrew get back from our honeymoon,” Verity specified unhappily. “He said they didn’t want to steal any attention from our wedding…”

“What - But - But he’s gay?” Jim was too far down the line of incomprehension that a million startled thoughts crowded at the front of his brain and this had been the first one to fly out.

“Don’t we all know it,” Verity said dryly. “And we all know it’s a stupid decision, but he’s got his noble streak turned full on and he won’t listen to anyone, believe me, I tried…”

“But - but why?” Jim pressed. “Because of Trenwith? And Geoffrey Charles?”

“Yeah. If he marries Elizabeth, Trenwith stays in the family, it stays Geoffrey Charles’...”

“Won’t it anyway?”

“I suppose. But - this is Poldark pride we’re talking about, and Ross knows Warleggan has had his eyes on Trenwith forever, he’d love to turn it into one of his tasteless posh places, and…”

“So Ross wants to save both the houses…”

“Yeah. And Elizabeth wants to save Trenwith as well, at least she says so, but I have a feeling Elizabeth just wants to go where the money and security go. Maybe I’m doing her a disfavor, but that’s just my feeling,” Verity shrugged. “Maybe Ross knows it too, so…”

“So he wants to make sure it won’t end up in George’s hands…” Jim’s pulse was racing at the idea of Ross’ intended nuptials. “And you think - with his leg getting worse-”

“The more I think about it, the more it seems like a - like an arrangement that suits them both… Ross takes care of Trenwith, Elizabeth takes care of Ross if something goes wrong with his leg, and they both take care of Geoffrey Charles.”

“But that’s ridiculous,” Jim said, outrage growing bigger the more probable it all seemed. “That might make logical sense, but he doesn’t have to marry her to accomplish all that? Plus, he doesn’t love her, she doesn’t love him -”

Verity made a funny noise in her throat, and Jim paused, staring at her open mouthed. “You think - you think she loves him?”

Verity made another small noise, scrunching up her face. 

“But he’s gay?”

“Well, they did go out when they were younger, before Ross realized, or admitted to himself, more like, that he swung the other way. So there’s a chance she still has feelings for him, that she’s hoping he will come around, so to say.”

Jim was almost shaking now, feeling livid. “She’s hoping that by marrying Ross she will un-gay him again? What the actual fuck?!” He’d never liked Elizabeth, she was always too smooth and proper to show any real feeling or emotion, as if everything had to be tucked behind the safe exterior of a put-together lady that she had to maintain. 

Verity laughed, mirthless. “Yeah, exactly. It’s all seven shades of fucked up, and I want to bash his head against a wall, but he won’t listen to me anymore. And I’ve been busy getting the wedding ready so I haven’t had time to talk him out of it…It’s just the two of them down there in Cornwall and it all apparently makes sense in their brains.” She sighed again and looked around. Now that she’s gotten this load off her chest, she seemed to have woken up to where they were again and she glanced back towards the club, startled. 

“Oh gosh, I’ve been going on and on and I’ve been keeping you from your beau…”

“My what?” Jim tried to think past the shock and outrage, giving her a blank stare.

“The guy you were with in the club, tall and dark?” She suddenly looked bashful about all the things she’s said, as if realizing anew that Jim could be way past Ross in his love life. “Are you two dating?” she added.

“Christ no, I met him an hour ago,” Jim answered. “I’m not even sure I remember his name. He’ll get over me.”

“Did you?” she said then, looking at him with a glimmer of sympathy in her dark eyes. “Get over Ross, I mean.”

Jim’s eyes bore into hers, and then he looked away, bitter and frustrated. “Fuck, I wish…”

“Do you still care about him, then?” she ventured. “You still love him?”

“Why do you think I’m sitting here working myself up to a stroke over this? Jesus, he’s so fucking infuriating, your cousin... This whole year I’ve been hoping to finally get over him and I haven’t. What am I supposed to do now? Is he really going to marry her?” Jim felt the rage start vibrating inside him again. Everything about the idea felt utterly wrong, and the more he thought about it, the harder it was to even sit still.

Verity shifted, shuffling her mary janes on the sidewalk. “I don’t know. I tried to talk him out of it, but I’m at my wits end, to be honest. And I don’t want to make you miserable by telling you, but…”

“I already am miserable, this doesn’t make any difference,” Jim answered dryly, but it was a lie: this made a lot of difference and he knew he would have a hard time not doing anything about this.

“I’m sorry, Jim,” Verity said, sounding as unhappy as he felt. “I wish I knew what to do…”

Jim wished the same thing. God, this was a fucking mess. And someone had to stop Ross if he was about to fuck up his life royally. 

What was the chance though that he’d speak to Jim, though? They haven’t had any contact for a year - exactly so - and it was more than likely that if Jim called him now, Ross would just do what he’d done right after leaving and ignore the calls. And Jim didn’t feel like leaving him an angry voicemail - because right now all he felt like was yelling at Ross to stop being a colossal idiot. 

No, if Jim was to do anything about this -

He stood up and brushed off his jeans, a sudden decision sweeping him full of determination. He’d waited a whole year to say something to Ross, letting Ross get away with leaving like that, but this was the final raindrop that broke the dam.

“He’s been hiding long enough,” he said, his voice almost savage. “He wouldn’t pick up my calls, but he will have to listen if I’m there. And I’m going to tell him exactly what I think about him leaving like he did and not telling me about his leg or giving me a chance to fight for us. And I am definitely going to give him a piece of my mind about the ridiculous sham of a marriage he plans on sticking his head into…”  
Verity stared up at him, eyes so wide it was almost comical. “What exactly are you saying, Jim?” she asked.  
Jim could barely keep himself from moving now that he’d decided. The prospect of confronting Ross was thrilling, like setting out on a warpath, like getting ready to engage in a battle he’d long put off. Except a small part of Jim wanted the battle to end with a peace treaty. If there was any chance for it...

Jim took a deep breath, then looked at Verity. 

“I’m going to Cornwall.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part two of four. Thanks for the comments on the first chapter and for reading :)

The war-like determination didn’t lose any of its burning intensity as Jim drove along the dark empty roads, leaving the city further and further behind with each minute. Deep, revolving hum of anger churned inside him, lending his brain laser-sharp focus and making sleep about the last thing on Jim’s mind. Normally he’d be snoozing his head off at this time of night, but now there was no thought of rest, of going to bed.

Everything Verity had told him kept on replaying in his mind. The news about Ross’ bad leg. Nampara. Elizabeth and Trenwith. Ross trying to make up for his cousin’s idiotic behavior by injecting his own version of it into the situation.

He wasn’t sure which part of it all made him madder: the fact that Ross hadn’t trusted Jim with the worsening of his health, that he hadn’t given the two of them a proper chance to work all of their issues out, or that he now risked making the nerve damage from his old injury even worse by doing all the construction work by himself.

And that noble streak of his – Jim growled under his breath. That pride of Ross’, paired with the need to save people from misfortune, seemed to be prompting him to marry Elizabeth to preserve the big Poldark house and ensure his nephew’s future. Joined together with Ross’ stubbornness, the pride was a force to be reckoned with and Ross seemed to be unleashing them both full force right now.

Ironically, this noble spirit and need to help others was one of the things Jim had fallen in love with – this feisty dedication of his to do as much as possible for people who were down on their luck. It was an admirable trait – stepping up against bad odds, working his ass off to give other people a chance to improve their lives – Jim admired it. This was why they’d even met; Ross had started his smelting business in Jim´s city, hiring people who lost their jobs due to corporations who’d jumped town for better prospects elsewhere. The company prospered, too – moderately but enough; the business turned profitable after two years and actually grew.

But when Nampara finally got untangled from the land disputes it’d been steeped in for decades, when it fell into Ross’ possession, Ross sold the smelting works to his second in charge, Zacky Martin, for a modest price paid off in small monthly increments. Ross had felt by then that the business could continue running without him and not go under, and that he had done all he could to help the people who needed it. Which was true, and Jim was proud of him for it.

But when that noble streak of Ross’ focused in the wrong direction – 

The thought of him marrying Elizabeth made Jim want to puke. 

He took a sip of his ice-cold drink to force that sick feeling back down his throat. He gripped the wheel tighter and pressed the gas pedal closer to the floor, the car zooming around a curve that cut through fenced pastures and climbed up a hill towards a quiet village. He checked his arrival time on the GPS for the seventeenth time that hour: 3 hours and 2 minutes to destination.

He’ll get to Nampara an hour after sunrise. He would see Ross and tell him where exactly he should shove his noble streak.

He set his jaw and narrowed his eyes, the seething inside of him egging him on more effectively than the two doses of caffeine he’d so far consumed. 

 

But while the long driving hours didn’t diminish the wrath that bubbled ferociously inside Jim’s stomach, they did give him the chance to take a long hard look at himself as well. If he was being fair – and Jim´s high standards for others required of him to apply them to himself as well – he couldn’t place all of the blame for the failed relationship only on Ross’ shoulders. Sure, leaving the way Ross did bordered on betrayal and it had taken Jim quite some time to see straight through the white rage that the sudden split had suffused him with. But throughout the past miserable year Jim had a lot of time to think about the why. And even if he hadn’t known about Ross’ leg getting worse, he knew he himself was not entirely blameless in the split. 

For one, he could now see that he had been pretty categorical about some things. When Ross had inherited his Cornwall childhood home and decided that he wanted to take care of it, Jim informed him right away that he didn’t want to do a long-distance thing and that he didn’t think there were good enough job prospects for him to move to such a remote place. He thought he was being honest and upfront, but it rankled of uncompromising behavior as well and Jim regretted now that he hadn´t made himself more open to discussion. Sometimes he could be so damn inflexible, set in his own ways and not even able to imagine changing them until it was too late…

But then, after the two of them took the trip to the Cornish coast and inspected the neglected house, Jim became convinced that Nampara was too far gone to invest in and that it was a crazy idea to try and fix it. Jim thought Ross would see it that way too in the end, especially when the first estimates of how much it would cost to renovate it came in, but he had severely underestimated Ross’ emotional connection to the place. Not that Ross had expressed it openly. But Jim should have seen it in his eyes when they had both first arrived to the place on the clifftop. He should have read there how attached Ross was to it; instead, Jim had thought that the wistful glint in Ross’ eyes was just regret.

And then there was Ross’ leg, which Jim had known was acting up more than before around the time Ross left. But Ross had brushed off Jim’s inquiries about it enough times for Jim to be wary of venturing to ask again. Still, Ross could have confided in him when he got the bad news, instead of saying that there were no changes to speak of. Maybe by then Ross had thought Jim wasn´t interested in knowing anymore. Did he think he had pushed Jim so far that Jim no longer cared about Ross’ well-being? Did they both assume to know the other’s feelings and got entrenched deeper and deeper in their own mind loops?

The realization of how much miscommunication had gone on between them was like a hot whip to Jim’s skin, leaving welts of guilt and helpless fury all over him. They could have done so much better if they’d just opened their damn mouths and talked to each other.

But they hadn’t.

So now, a few hours into speeding down the roads like a vengeful bullet, Jim wanted to kick himself as much as he wanted to kick Ross. How did he let things get this bad? What the hell had they been thinking, going around giving ultimatums and keeping stuff corked in, unsaid, festering under the lid? People had been envious of their chemistry, their instant connection, the way they seemed to fit together and make each other laugh and shine. People thought they were ‘it’ and assured them problems like this would work themselves out. So how come they had fucked it up?

 

Jim gritted his teeth and then exhaled, making himself loosen the convulsive grip he had on the steering wheel before his fingers could get a cramp. Fatigue was creeping in along the edges of his eyes, reminding him of the hour of the day. He blinked it away. He couldn’t pause now that he was on this mission - he was getting closer, the GPS claimed just one hour and five was left, and he was not going to give up now. If he stopped, he might change his mind, fall asleep, lose his nerve. And Jim wasn’t going to allow that. He knew now that he needed this; he needed to face Ross. Maybe it wouldn’t fix things, but at least it was a chance to hash things out and tell Ross in no uncertain terms that he was being a complete twat. 

Maybe it was the only way for Jim to stop dragging the break-up behind himself like an anchor on a rusting chain. 

And then, as soon as the estimated time of arrival dropped under one hour, nostalgia showed up and buckled up in the seat next to Jim, as if he’d picked it up like a random rain-drenched hitchhiker by the side of the road. But he knew what had caused it: sunrays were beginning to tiptoe along the horizon and this had always been Jim’s favorite time of day, especially when he and Ross were together. He was an early bird by nature, his inner clock set so that he would spring out of bed, bright-eyed and ready to go catch whatever worms there were to be had that day. So even on those mornings when 6 am marked just three hours since falling asleep in a sweaty, panting heap on top of each other, Jim’s eyes would crack open at dawn as if he needed to at least check in with the world at his usual time. And seeing Ross snoring next to him, arm thrown up above his head on the pillow and mouth hanging open – that sight meant that Jim’s world was the best it could be and he could go back to sleep for a few hours more with a content buzz lifting his heart.

That changed, of course, when Ross had walked out. No more intense nights, no more blissful mornings. But those two and a half years they’d had – they had been nothing short of amazing. The tingling beginnings. Moving in together, cooking dinner on weeknights in the tiny kitchen, hips bumping and hot oil hissing and spattering. On weekends, they used to drive out to see places, went out to eat or just sit at the pub, or they’d stay in and watch film after film under a shared blanket, sometimes missing half the shows in favor of making out or more.

They’d talked about getting a dog, moving to a bigger place together…

Yeah, well. It didn’t exactly pan out.

But god, Jim could still see the way Ross had smiled at him that night they met, across a few tables at the pub where each of them sat drinking with their group of friends. Just the memory of it made butterflies burst through Jim’s midsection, temporarily masking the wrath and sour remorse and letting him get transported back to that place and time. His fingers were suddenly moist from the condensation on his third pint of beer, his nostrils full of the smell fish and chips frying in the pub’s kitchen. His forearms remembered the red creases from where he was leaning against the edge of the square oak table. 

And there was that hot rush of attraction again, the sparkling sensation he’d felt every time his eyes met Ross’ across the room. The third time it happened, Jim could no longer pretend it was a coincidence and when Ross’ crooked smile widened brilliantly, Jim had held his eye and inclined his head, unwilling to break the gaze or conceal his interest in the other man.

He sighed at the achingly perfect memory. But then a deer jumped into the road up ahead and he slammed on the brake, falling out of the reverie as his pulse rocketed up. Regret flooded back in and a sense of sadness so profound that Jim could barely stand it filled him at the idea of never seeing Ross smile at him like that again. Maybe that was what had made it so hard to let go… He couldn’t imagine anything else would ever feel this way. How could it? When Ross first told Jim he loved him – god, Jim had thought something inside him might rupture from how ridiculously happy it made him, that he might bleed out from the feeling if he doesn’t find a way to contain it. When he’d said the words back to Ross, Ross’ face nearly split in an uncontrollable grin, until they had to look like a pair of complete lunatics. Afterwards, they couldn’t stop kissing, each pulling the other back in when the kiss broke, heedless of the fact that they were standing in the middle of a crowded park on a sunny Saturday morning and likely attracting attention. Jim had felt like the confession had been brewing between them for months, each taking care not to push their budding relationship too far, until it sprang out at the end of a mundane conversation they’d started in the car.

Of course, later they consummated the occasion by forgoing the rest of their Saturday plans and driving back home instead in order to have frantic sex against the door of Ross’ studio.

Jim groaned at the memory of those days. God, the sex…

He chased the recollections from his brain before he could crash into the nearest fencepost. 

Then a worse thought occurred to him - had Ross slept with anyone since he’d left? Had he slept with Elizabeth? 

Jim’s stomach tightened, his mind raging at the thought.

Dammit.

He didn’t want to know. He didn’t think he could bare it.

 

He grabbed an energy bar at a petrol station in Truro before making the final leg of the journey. The sun was out now, shyly peeking over the curves of the horizon and trying to battle scattered clouds that came in from the Irish Sea. Instead of soothing Jim, though, the sunshine just poked at his eyes which were starting to tire from working overtime. He swallowed the bar in two bites and kept going, not daring to buy anymore coffee in case the caffeine might give him a heart attack.

It was now almost eight in the morning. Ross wasn’t exactly an early riser by design, but surely, he could deal with it if Jim showed up at his door a little sooner than etiquette recommended? 

Verity had given Jim directions to the house; he’d only been there a few times last year and Ross had usually driven then. The roads got narrower and narrower as Jim got closer, his heart beginning to hammer and his palms starting to sweat on the steering wheel, nerves getting the best of him. A few more turns, and he’d be there.

Then the sky opened and the horizon cleared and there it was. 

A stocky, two-storied cottage sitting halfway down the gently sloping ground, a low stone fence running along the front of it and to the back. It didn’t look much different from a year ago, but there were definite signs of renovations and small repairs strewn everywhere. Jim catalogued them as he drove closer - a mound of sand, a heap of ripped out bushes, stacked-up bricks by the side of the house. 

To the right of the yard, the slope continued down to the edge of the impressive cliffs and in the dawn’s haze Jim could spy the remnants of one of the old Poldark copper mines – he’d forgotten their names by now – attached to the cliff side itself, hanging on to the very end of the earth, it seemed. Ross’ heritage, now spent.

He pulled up to the front gate of Nampara. The grass was cut low there, so he parked his car and turned off the engine, pushing his sunglasses up into his hair. Then he took a deep breath, ignoring the nervous churn in his stomach, and stepped out. 

The drive didn’t do much for his posture; he stretched to wake his muscles and work out the kinks in his neck and then he looked around, hardly believing he was actually here. It seemed unreal, down to the salty wind that immediately started fussing with his hair. 

He shut the car door, turned to the house, then hesitated. A small part of him advised him to get back in the car and disappear before Ross could spot him. Maybe he should just try and forget this, not make the pain worse by stirring it at the very root. 

But if he left now, he had a feeling he’d never work up the courage to come here again.

That battle mood swelled right back up.

He walked through the gate, noting that Ross had installed a new, iron-wrought one in place of the old wooden one that had barely hung on. The metal creaked as he passed through and closed it; he looked up at the house and noticed that the door and shutters had been treated to a new coat of red paint. There was still a ladder leaning against one of the upper windows, suggesting the job had been a very recent one. Patches of the house held lighter spots where the stonework had been repaired.

Jim walked up the front path through a garden that was mostly cleared of weeds, even boasting new plants along one wall. Ross, a gardener? It was a curious thought, and it made Jim almost smile through the tension in his chest. 

Hand lifted to knock, he paused again. This was it, then. He was finally going to see Ross, speak to him. Was it wise?

Maybe not. But knowing what he knew now, thanks to Verity, Jim couldn’t just leave it be. 

He steeled his resolve and squared his shoulders, then pounded on the door with his fist.

 

There was no answer. Jim frowned when ten seconds passed by with nary a sound inside. Was Ross still asleep? Jim waited, but when nothing kept on happening, he knocked again. 

The result was the same.

Taking a few steps back, Jim observed the house once more. No lights were on in any window he could see, but the sun was high enough that it didn’t necessarily indicate absence. Looking around, he realized he couldn’t see Ross’ pick-up truck; could it be parked behind the house? Or was Ross out already - at the store, in town for supplies perhaps?

Or, maybe he was at Elizabeth’s, spending the night with his soon-to-be wife?

Jim’s vision clouded with red. He huffed and ground his teeth as he considered his next move, taking a few more steps back towards the gate and then turning around to glare at Nampara as if it was all the house’s fault.

Which was why he completely missed the sound of footsteps coming from around the left side of the house and only realized what was happening when the owner of the house cleared a corner and emerged into full sunlight, stopping short at the sight of the unexpected visitor.

Cold sweat washed over Jim and his whole body seemed struck by a sudden paralysis; the only unaffected part of him was his pulse, which went from elevated to insane in a split second. And although this meeting had been the point of the whole impromptu road trip, now that he was face to face with his former boyfriend, something akin to panic rose inside Jim.

He briefly mused whether Nampara had a well he could elegantly jump into and disappear. 

But he couldn’t remember if there was one or not and it was too late to hightail it out of here now anyway; he’d shown up on Ross’ radar. There was no avoiding this one now: he was going to have to see this through.

Yet he couldn’t for the love of him figure out what to say or how to start now that the man was mere twelve feet away from him.

Ross had grown shaggier during their time apart: his stubble bordered on beard length and his hair had gotten so long he had it pulled back, probably to keep it out of the way as he worked. He was wearing old jeans and a grey shirt, both speckled generously with paint; he looked slimmer but in a wiry, hard-working way.

He also seemed shocked to the core as he stared at Jim blankly at first, probably deciding whether he was an apparition or the real thing. To Ross’ credit, the bucket and shovel he carried did not fall out of his hands, but his lips parted soundlessly as though he tried to speak and failed to produce a sound.

Then a few expressions passed through Ross’ face, too fast for Jim to catch - and his eyebrows drew together in that severe way of his.

“Jim?” he croaked and his voice held barely veiled alarm.

Jim swallowed, collected himself as best he could. “Hello, Ross.”

They regarded each other for a few heartbeats and then Ross broke the gaze, glancing towards Jim’s car as if still looking for clues that Jim was real. 

“What are you doing here?” he said finally, turning his eyes back on Jim.

Jim fought to mask how unsettling it was to hear Ross’ voice again – he’d missed that damn voice. And those brown eyes – all those familiar contours of Ross’ face... 

But the voice held reluctance and Ross’ features were distorted with shock and fear. All of Jim’s reasons for coming here rushed back in, the anger and hurt rising back to the surface, filling him until he had no choice but to speak. When he did, he sounded almost as steady as he’d hoped.

“I’ve come to ask you if you’ve lost your goddamn mind.”

Ross’ face tightened with confusion. “What?”

He looked almost adorable and that was quite infuriating. Jim’s tone hardened. “Yeah, that’s right.” He took a deep breath. “I ran into Verity last night in a club and we had a very interesting chat.”

“Verity?” Ross’ shock increased at first, and then it began to dawn on him where the storm was blowing from. “Oh.”

“Yeah, it was her hen night, it turned out. But she took the time to fill me in on a few things.” Keeping his voice calm was harder now.

“She did?” Ross swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple jumping. “Like what?”

Jim raised an eyebrow. “I think you know.” He felt like someone could ignite the air between them with one tiny spark; it seemed like it was charged with things long held in.

Ross held Jim’s gaze for one second more, then looked away again as if caught out and ashamed, the bucket he was still holding in one hand swinging gently and creaking. “I don’t see how any of it is your concern.”

“No, I guess it isn’t,” Jim said, now bitter despite himself. “You made sure it wasn’t my concern when you walked out on me.”

Ross looked up as if slapped. “Oh, I see. You’re here to shout at me about that? A whole fucking year later?”

“So what if I was?” Jim countered. “It’s not like you picked up any of my phone calls or responded to any of my messages after you left.”

Ross bit his lip, his face closing off. “Look, if that’s what you want to hear, I’m sorry I left like that. If you’re here to call me a few choice names, then please just get it out of the way. I have a lot of work to do.”

The words bordered on dismissive, and the urge to do just what Ross suggested nearly won in Jim. He ground his teeth against it, forcing himself to stay mostly calm. “That’s a really tempting offer, believe me. But I’ve managed to go without for a year so it can certainly wait now. What I really want to know is why the hell you didn’t tell me about your leg and what the hell you think you’re going to achieve by marrying Elizabeth?”

Ross jerked at the sound of her name. “I don’t see how any of it is relevant to you anymore.”

He wore his typical stubborn-as-a-mule look, but he also, for just one second, looked profoundly miserable. Jim’s anger faltered for just a fraction, that damn protective instinct towards the man standing across from him poking its head out. Then the hurt won again.

“Maybe it is relevant to me,” Jim said, his own mulish side showing up to match Ross’, not wanting to be left behind. “Seeing as you left me with just a few scribbled words on a piece of paper as an explanation, I think I have the right to ask.”

Ross shook his head. “What good is it going to do? It’s all in the past.” He sat the bucket down, then leaned the shovel against the house.

“That’s easy for you to say,” Jim retorted. “You’re not the one who came home one day to find out their boyfriend fucked off to Cornwall without a word!”

When Ross looked up at Jim again, his eyes were starting to burn with frustration. “And what was I supposed to do? You said you wouldn’t move here and you didn’t want to date long distance. What other choice did I have?”

“I don’t know, maybe you could have fucking talked to me?”

“It seemed like you’d said your part.” Ross shook his head again. “Look, leaving like that was crappy of me, I admit that. But this–“ He looked up at the house, his eyes roaming over the stone walls, the newly painted shutters, the thatched roof – “I had to do this. And I didn’t see any other way anymore.”

“You could have told me how important it was to you. I can’t read fucking minds, Ross.” He knew he was being a little unfair then; the anger receded a little and the vacated section instead filled with a hollow ache.

“You think I don’t know that?” Ross ran a hand over his hair, finger getting stuck between two locks. Jim twitched at the sight: he used to run his hands through Ross’ hair all the time, even if it’d been shorter a year ago. It used to be his fingers that were getting stuck in the unruly locks…

Jim realized Ross was speaking and that he’d been day dreaming right there in plain daylight. Ross’ hand, the one that had inspired Jim to zone out, was now shoved in a pocket of the worn jeans, only a thumb jutting out.

“-d’you think I wanted us to end like that? What do you want me to say, that I’m a coward for running out on you?” Ross glared, nostrils flaring as his temper and frustration gathered momentum. “If that’s what will make you satisfied, then yeah, I’m a coward, okay? I wanted to fucking beg you to come with me and I didn’t because I couldn’t bear to hear a no again. And I didn’t want to drag you somewhere you didn’t want to be so that you’d end up miserable. But I couldn’t stay, either.” He took a deep breath, as if trying to quell the anger and hurt and shame that Jim could read in his face and that likely boiled Ross alive inside. The slow exhalation that followed must have helped; when Ross next spoke, he sounded almost calm. “There. I said it. You happy?”

The sadness that had staked its tiny hold in Jim now took completely over, filling him to the brim. He stared at Ross, holding the fierce gaze of the hazel eyes until it was almost unbearable in intensity. He’d had no idea that that was how Ross had felt. Ross had never shared those feelings.

And he was asking Jim if he was happy now- 

“No,” he said, a lump in his throat making speech the hardest yet. “I’m not fucking happy, Ross.” The anger was back and before Jim knew it, he was shouting, despite his previous intentions to keep calm. “You think telling me now can change the fact that last year was one fucked-up string of days when I wanted to either bash your head in or see you walk in through the door and tell me you still fucking cared? You think I’m magically going to be okay with everything now because you explained one little thing to me when I hunted you down? Jesus, Ross. I’m not saying I was always perfect, I know I could have done much better, but you could have talked to me. You could have tried.” He inhaled through his nose, shaking as he did so. “And now I’m finding out you are planning on a happy little back-in-the-closet ending with Elizabeth and for fuck’s sake Ross-“

He stopped. With horror, he realized that he was on the verge of frustrated tears and he turned away. Pushing them back was a herculean task but he managed. When he turned back, Ross was watching him with a remorseful but set expression.

„I don’t expect you to understand,“ he stated, his voice low.

Feeling the urge to both rage and laugh at the offhand statement, Jim took a step forward. „Damn right I don’t understand! You told me-“ he jabbed a finger at Ross, „you told me about your relationship with her and how she didn’t even want to believe you when you came out to her. Are you telling me you’re going to erase who you are to be with her?“

Ross looked as if he’d rather eat his own hand than continue. „Do we have to – do we really have to do this?“ he said darkly.

„Yeah,“ Jim said. „Yeah we do. Because I don’t have a clue why you’d want to marry her.“

Ross looked like was getting worked up again. „Well fine, then.“ He shifted his weight from his left foot to the right, as if relieving his problem leg. „I’m marrying her because her and Geoffrey Charles are struggling. Francis left her in debt and desperate and in order to save Trenwith-“

Verity’s words from the night before echoed prophetically in Jim’s ears. „You’re marrying her because of the big house?“

Ross‘ face took on a defensive expression. „No, of course it’s not just that! But Geoffrey Charles needs someone to look after him since his father is not around anymore and did a horrible job of it before that anyway. And Elizabeth and I always got along, it only makes sense to make it official.“

The urge to yell was near deafening, but Jim managed to dial it back lest people hear his voice all the way in Truro. „You ‚got along‘?“ he sputtered. „I must be fucking dreaming.“

Ross‘ face darkened, eyebrows drawing together so tight they formed a single menacing line. „Yeah, we do get along. This is something I need to do. It’s my duty since Francis failed to do right by them.“

„Your duty?“ Jim couldn’t stop his voice from turning acidic. „Are we still in the 18th century? Since when is it your duty to marry her to save her from debts and be there for Geoffrey Charles? You’re his uncle, isn’t that enough already?“

Ross dug his heels in. „I’m doing what I have to do, Jim. I’m not stuck in anything-“

„You aren’t? I don’t know, it would explain why you suddenly decided to stop being gay and marry the girl with whom you realized you weren’t straight in the first place.“ He shook his head. „You’re right, I don’t fucking understand.“

He’d managed to go from acidic to bitter faster than lightning. Why did Ross have to be such a belligerent, bull-headed, proud idiot? It was infuriating to the extreme and Jim had the sudden urge to shove Ross in the chest, to make him budge, make him admit what he was doing was stupid. Instead he bit into his cheek so he wouldn’t shout again, clenching his fists.

„You’re not required to understand,“ Ross replied. „I’ve made up my mind.“

„Yeah, and clearly when you make up your mind, that’s the end, huh? No one else gets a say. Like when you left? I suppose“ – now Jim was closer to those goddamn tears than ever – „I suppose what we had didn’t matter to you as much as you said, did it? Was it all empty fucking words? Because if you’re ready to exchange that for ‚getting along‘ with Elizabeth for the rest of your life, then you and I must have been living a different reality even before you left.“

His heart was hammering so fast that a heart-rate monitor would probably raise an alarm just seeing him walk through a door. He stared at Nampara’s shutters, the new coat of red paint bright in the morning sun. 

When he chanced a look at Ross again, the frown was still there but Ross‘ face had rearranged around it in subtle ways. He looked almost self-loathing now, despondent.

But he stayed quiet, and when it looked like that won’t change, Jim shook his head, now almost livid.

„I guess I’m not worth any more words to you, am I? What you share with her is so much better than what you and I had?”

This time Ross opened his mouth and took a step forward. “That’s not-“ he halted, looking defensive.

“Not what?” Jim retorted.

“It’s not that simple…”

“Enlighten me, then,” Jim hissed. “Either our relationship meant something to you or it meant nothing. You either loved me–“

“It’s not like that!” Ross’s volume increase as he protested. “I – I never lied to you about that. We – this - “ he gestured between the two of them, “it meant a great deal to me and you know that. You have to know that.”

„Do I? I don’t know anything anymore, Ross. Except that you left and now you’re sticking your head in a marriage that is a fucking sham. That’s what I know.“

Ross‘ shoulders hunched over, as if he couldn’t bear the weight of Jim’s arguments anymore. „You can‘t think I lied to you this whole time,“ he said, voice chock full of emotion now. When Jim didn’t react, his voice took on an imploring quality. „Jim...“

Jim met his eyes, and Ross‘ were shining now with frustration. He wanted to go to him, shake him, make him see sense, see those hazel eyes bright and happy again. But the chasm was there between them, gaping.

He held Ross’ gaze. „I have no idea what to think.“

„It wasn’t a lie.“

„Well if it wasn’t, then something else is!“ Jim erupted.

Ross pursed his mouth and looked down at his boots. 

„And what about your leg?“ Jim spat out. „Why did you not tell me that it was getting worse?“

Ross‘ face took on that stubborn, closed-off expression as he glared at Jim anew. „Do we have to keep dissecting this? What does my leg fucking matter. I’ll either end up crippled or I won’t. There’s nothing you can do about it.“ He sounded thoroughly unhappy.

„Oh for fuck’s sake, Ross!“ Jim was back to livid, back to almost shouting now. „Maybe I wanted to know! Maybe I wanted to help you. And I could have, if you hadn’t stopped talking to me about it.“

“Yeah, well, maybe I didn’t want to be a fucking burden to you. Maybe I thought you shouldn’t have to deal with it – did you ever think of that as a possibility?”

“Yeah, if you had confided in me, I might have told you that you need to stop being so fucking noble about it!”

“I didn’t even think you cared by then,” Ross said, eyes stormy. He was shouting too now, color rising into his cheeks.

“Does this look like I didn’t care?” Jim replied in an equally frustrated tone. “I’m not perfect, not by a mile. But you closed yourself off to where I couldn‘t reach you and I was left with nothing!“ 

He was tired, suddenly, his energy reserves well in the red zone. He closed his eyes and felt instantly lightheaded; he pressed his fist to his temple to steady himself. This whole conversation had so far done nothing except stir up the old pain.

He blew out hot air through his nostrils. He should just shut up before this grew worse. But his anger didn't seem to be spent completely yet, because he found himself speaking again.

„Would I be here if I didn’t care?“ he said, quieter, pain bleeding into his voice. „I cared then and stupidly enough, I still do. But like you said, what does it matter?“

He broke off. There was silence, only the breeze from the sea rustling in the grass and weeds in the front garden. Jim stared at the edge of the cliff to hide from Ross the tears that streaked down his face.

„Jim...“ Ross‘ voice was small when he spoke next, but it was full of amazement. „God, you mean you still - you -“

„Love you?“ Jim said. He wiped his face with the back of his hand, still not looking at Ross. „I don’t know. Maybe.“ He sniffed, nose full of snot – another affront to his dignity. „I guess that makes me a complete idiot, because you’re about to marry Elizabeth. And I suppose your noble fucking spirit is going to keep you warm at night when you realize maybe you were gay after all.“

„I made her a promise,“ Ross said, now sounding more miserable than ever. „I owe her...“

Jim could think of twenty more arguments, insults and objections he could hurl at Ross, but that last admission had finally taken him right to the bottom of his fuel tank. 

He met Ross‘ eye for one last time. Those familiar features, now distorted by guilt and pain, still moved him. But he had to tear himself away, even if he might never see Ross again.

It took a lot of effort, but he found one last ounce of willpower to speak, to move even though his core was sick and empty. „You act as if Francis had reincarnated into you and you had to fix everything he messed up.“ He closed his eyes, gathered himself. „You know what, forget it. It was stupid of me to come.“

„Jim-“ Ross looked stricken, his voice gravel-rough. 

„Nice paint job on the shutters,“ Jim interrupted. „And give my congratulations to Elizabeth.“

He turned and started walking to the car. Ross said something, called out, but Jim couldn’t focus on the words. It was as if he was submerged in water, everything coming to him through a filter. Blood was beating in his ears and rushing madly through his brain, thoughts ripping through faster than he could process. He was tired, his head like a dead weight on his neck, but he kept walking, furiously pushing back tears. 

He almost walked into the low metal gate, noticing it and reaching out at the last moment to push it open. He had to get to the car and out of here, make it all the way back home somehow and sleep away the rest of the weekend. 

And then?

He had no idea.

He managed not to stumble along the way, which was a fucking miracle given the uneven ground and his own increasingly misty sight. He reached the car and grasped the door handle like a lifesaver. 

He had to forget this place, forget Ross. 

If he could only figure out how.

For now, he just had to keep moving. He pulled the door open with force, eager to get into the relative seclusion of his car. But either his brain and body refused to coordinate or he was too slow getting out of the way, because in the next second, he slammed the door right into the side of his own face.

He staggered backward from the impact, a startled ‚oof‘ pushing past his lips. His hand let go of the door handle and flew to his cheek and jaw as he struggled to regain his balance.

His face was throbbing with pain and when Jim touched his jaw, his fingers came away wet. He stared at the drops of blood, incredulous, dizzied. Did he just -

„Jim?!“

Ross‘ voice rang out, quick footsteps crunching up the pathway. 

Shit. Was there no end to this fuck-up of a situation? Jim grabbed the top of the door, thinking of getting in, but Ross had already caught up. Damn his long legs... 

Ross‘ hand landed on top of Jim’s on the door frame. It was the first touch between them after all this time and it sent a cold-hot shockwave through Jim’s core, making him stiffen. He didn’t think he could move even if he wanted to.

„Jim – fuck, are you alright?“ Ross said, inches away, his voice full of concern. For the first time, he sounded truly like himself.

„I’m fine,“ Jim gritted out the obvious lie. His face hurt and now Ross was touching him and it wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fucking alright. He wanted to just lean back and rest against Ross like he used to, but that was never going to happen again. He wanted to crawl under the car and disappear.

Ross wasn’t fooled either. „You just smashed the door in your face.“ His tone was gentle, but with an uncompromising note beneath. „Let me see.“

„It’s nothing,“ Jim retorted, voice curt to keep everything he felt in check. „Just a-“ 

His breath caught in the back of his throat when he felt Ross step around him and his touch transfer to Jim’s face. He lifted Jim’s jaw with a thumb and forefinger and Jim stiffened even more, afraid he’d give himself away with a shiver. Involuntarily, he glanced at Ross and their eyes met. 

He was so close, Jim could see the amber speckles in Ross‘ irises. Everything came into sharp focus for a second; Ross‘ mouth parted and he seemed both frozen and at war with himself. 

Then something gave and Jim couldn’t bear it anymore. He lowered his eyes, staring at a point right above Ross‘ shirt collar. He made to pull away, but Ross‘ fingers tightened their hold and he made a disapproving noise in his throat.

„You’re bleeding.“

„I’ll live,“ Jim said. More’s the pity. The cut smarted, all the more acutely for the scrutiny it was under. „I got to start heading back...“

„You drove here all night,“ Ross said, a realization more than a question.

Jim shrugged.

He jerked when Ross‘ thumb slid closer to the wound on his jaw in what could almost pass for a caress. Then Ross stepped back, his touch gone. „Let me sort the cut inside,“ he said, then paused, hesitating, probably afraid that Jim might start shouting at him again. „And maybe you should have some rest before you – before you go.“

Jim frowned, hastily covering up how much that offer surprised him. „That’s really generous of you, but I don’t need any sleep-“

„Yes you do.“ Ross‘ voice was firmer now. „And this needs cleaning at the very least.“

„Oh, you‘re the nurse now?“ Jim said without thinking, then it hit him that he used to tease Ross with those exact words when he’d gotten hurt before at aikido and Ross fussed over him.

He couldn’t miss the flicker of a startled smile on Ross‘ face as he recognized the line as well. „I’ve got nothing on you,“ Ross said. They stood there at an impasse for a few seconds and then Ross motioned towards Nampara with a nod of his head. „Come on. You’re in no state to drive.“

Ross was right, the bastard. But how could Jim stay? Lingering here just meant prolonging the agony. He should just drive to the nearest lonely place by the road, park under a tree and catch a nap on the backseat.

Yet in the face of Ross‘ firm reasoning, Jim’s ability to protest slid away from him like an unsecured object on the deck of a listing ship. Exhaustion was clouding his senses and now his head was aching dully from the blow from the door as well. He didn’t have another argument in him.

„Fine,“ he grumbled. „Just for the cut though.“

Ross didn’t raise objections, just took the door from him, pushing it closed with a soft click. Then he was steering Jim back towards the house with a hand on his upper arm.

Nampara greeted them with cool, must-tinged air when they stepped inside. The air smelled of bacon and eggs and coffee. Jim’s stomach sent up a mournful reminder that the energy bar from earlier wasn’t going to cut it as breakfast. He ignored the complaint, taking in the slightly chaotic interior of the hallway – the antique side table with its top overflowing with papers, random tools and work gloves, three pairs of muddy boots jammed underneath; a painted wooden sign leaning against the wall next to a coat hanger that should have succumbed to gravity four coats ago. Then Ross guided him into the room to the left and the breakfest scent got stronger – Jim ordered his stomach not to growl.

Ross pointed him to a chair. „Sit down over there, I’ll get some stuff.“

„Sure.“ Jim sank into the chair, resigned. He cast his eyes around the room so he didn’t have to look at Ross, grateful that Ross was now in action mode. He felt so sleepy now it was getting harder to keep his eyes open.

He could hear Ross rummage around in a cabinet by the window. There were dust speckles dancing in the light that flowed in through the glass, the curtains that framed it looking a tad frayed and faded. The couch at the far wall had clothes thrown over the back of it – jeans, sweater, a t-shirt. The table Jim was sitting at, a sturdy desk, was strewn with construction plans and material quotes and invoices; unopened mail piled next to a mug with the rest of tea from breakfast. Crumbs and grease adorned the plate which Ross hadn’t cleared away yet either.

It was so Ross it hurt.

„It’s a bit of a mess, sorry,“ Ross commented, face sheepish, when he returned. Jim looked up at him through tired eyelashes and something passed between them again, a memory of the past, almost fond.

„I don’t mind,“ Jim said, because anything else – alluding to the fact that he was familiar with Ross‘ lack of cleaning habits, or claiming that he hadn‘t noticed the mess even though they both knew of Jim’s compulsion to organize - didn’t ring right. Jim focused instead on the things Ross had brought – a tube of painkillers, a bottle of peroxide, gauze, plasters.

„You actually own disinfectant?“ he said, incredulous.

Ross grimaced. „It comes in handy when you make a habit of poking yourself with rusty nails.“

Jim opened his mouth, his professional habits and his prevailing concern for Ross rearing their heads in tandem. „Jesus, Ross, that’s dangerous.“

„Don’t worry, I got my tetanus booster after it happened the first time,“ Ross assured him as he opened the bottle and sloshed some of the liquid on the gauze pad. Then he seemed to realize what he’d said. „Not that you should worry about – I don’t expect -‘“

Jim braced himself for the sting as Ross lifted the pad to Jim’s face. He closed his eyes, hissed when it made contact. „It’s good that you got the shot,“ he said. „But you should be more careful.“

„I’m trying.“ Ross held the gauze in place for a few seconds, then pat the wound dry and considered it. „It’s not that big of a cut. I don’t think you need stitches.“

„I guess that’s my silver fucking lining,“ Jim said before he could stop himself. 

Ross bit his lip. „Do you want to take a look at it?“

„No, just put the plaster on tight. Please.“

„‘Kay.“

Ross worked in silence, his touches brief and strictly practical. It still made Jim dig his fingers into his thighs, willing his breathing to stay even and his body from reacting. He could tell Ross was disconcerted as well and wondered if he was regretting his offer now.

Ross finished smoothing down the adhesive to Jim’s cheek and then his touch was gone. He pushed the painkillers at Jim. „Here. I’ve got some tea left from breakfast but it’s probably cold.“

„Water’s fine,“ Jim said as he dumped two pills onto the palm of his hand.

Ross nodded and hustled out across the hallway, coming back with a cold water bottle. He handed it to Jim and for a moment it was just like being back in the apartment they used to share, coexisting happily in everyday moments.

But the setting was different now, alien to Jim, and homesickness for what they used to have hit him once more. He swallowed the pills and drained the water bottle. His stomach returned a queasy signal from below, not satisfied with the addition.

„Thanks for this.“ Jim gestured towards his jaw. He stood up and tucked the chair in out of habit, gripping it when another wave or weariness washed over him. Feeling self-conscious and transparent, he looked out of the window towards his car. „I really should get going, Ross.“

„Don’t be ridiculous,“ Ross insisted. „It’s a long drive and there’s a couch right here.“

They stared at each other. Jim’s resolve faltered, then failed him. „You sure?“

„Of course,“ Ross reiterated.

„Okay, fine.“ Jim sighed, resigned, forcing down a yawn. He could barely keep himself upright. „I could use an hour or two. I promise I’ll be out of your hair soon.“

Ross nodded, a shadow of an emotion crossing his face. But then he bent over the table, his expression hidden as he busied himself with collecting the breakfast plate and tea mug from the table, depositing odd bits of trash in the greasy traces of bacon. When he was done, he gave Jim the quickest of evasive smiles.

„Take your time.“

Before Jim could reply, Ross marched out into the hallway and Jim could hear him rummage in the next room. The sound of dishes clanking and boots thudding on the old wooden floor reached him as he walked around the table to the couch and toed off his shoes.

Slightly bewildered that he’d accepted Ross‘ offer and thinking he must have finally, undeniably, lost his damn mind, Jim flopped down onto the squashy, somewhat lumpy sofa. What the hell was he still doing at Nampara? And Ross... for just a second before he’d left the room, he’d looked almost relieved that Jim was staying... What was that about? 

Maybe he didn’t want to have Jim on his conscience if he got into a crash on the way back. Maybe helping Jim in a small way eased his guilt for the break-up. 

Or maybe, a small, treacherous part of Jim suggested, maybe he’d missed Jim, just a little...

Jim shut down that line of thought, too tired to speculate, to sort through all the things that had happened since he’d spotted Verity in the bar last night.

The red pillow was as soft as it had promised from afar, but Jim would have happily taken a cheese grater to rest on at that point. His body sent him a flurry of grateful telegrams when he stretched out his legs and closed his eyes.

His heart ached, monumentally so, and he was going to have to sneak out of here without Ross noticing as soon as he woke up.

But he drifted off with much more ease than he‘d anticipated, the house growing quiet around him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim wakes up at Nampara.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More from these two :)  
> Thanks for reading/kudos/comments!  
> Also big thanks to dandelionpower for making this chapter better with her advice <3

The sound of Ross‘ voice nudged Jim out of sleep.

Confused, he thought for a second that he was back in his apartment and Ross was walking in on his nap, about to tell him something about his day, complain that the neighbors had left their trash outside again, or kiss him and nudge him to shift over and make room for him.

Then reality caught up: he was at Nampara, and Ross and he did not share napping space anymore.

He lay half asleep and half awake, disappointed and not ready to give up on the comfortable position he’d taken upon Ross‘ parlor couch. Had he just laid down? It felt like not more than fifteen minutes could have passed since he’d closed his eyes. His brain was still fogged up with exhaustion and that heavy hopeless feeling lingered under his heart, pressing and not letting him forget.

Ross spoke again.

„I can’t right now, El,“ he said in a hushed tone and Jim realized he had to be out in the hallway, just past the parlor’s door. His heart started hammering as it hit him who Ross was talking to.

There was a pause and a shuffle of boots on the hallway floor and Jim strained his ears when he heard Ross‘ voice once more. „Was that today? Shit. I mean – sorry. Yeah, I’ll be – I’ll be over, just  - I might get there a little late, okay?“

Then Jim heard the click of a door and the footsteps grew even more muffled. So did Ross‘ voice: he must have stepped into the room across the hall.

Jim cracked an eye open; dim sunlight, tempered by clouds, was coming in through the window but it was impossible to deduce how much the day had progressed. Jim reached for his phone to check the time but he had let it in his nissan. The battery was probably low or dead now. Sort of like himself.

He briefly considered getting up to fetch it – or, while he was at it, actually jumping in the car and driving home like he should have done earlier – but the exhaustion, deeply seated in all of his muscles, was begging him to stay exactly where he was.

Besides, Ross was somewhere in the house and Jim didn’t fancy bumping into him in the hallway or front garden as he tried to make a hasty exit. He didn’t feel up to another awkward face off, not now and maybe not ever...

This whole trip had been a failure. The confrontation from earlier – Jim’s gut twisted into tight knots just thinking of it and he grimaced, the cut on his face flaring up with pain.

He touched the bandage gingerly with his fingers, wincing as he pressed in the middle. The medicine had dulled the pain, though not entirely.

Jim paused when Ross‘ voice suddenly rose in the next room, with surprise or anger – it was impossible to make out individual words. But Jim couldn’t leave now. Ross was talking to Elizabeth it seemed and was going to her place later... Jim could stick it out till Ross was gone and then slip out when the coast was clear.

It was a cowardly way out and Jim detested it. But Ross would probably be grateful for it as well, judging from his reluctance to discuss pretty much anything.

Jim closed his eyes again, sighing deeply. It made him both sad and incredibly frustrated that this was what they’d come to after all the years they’d shared. He had been hoping... for what exactly? A happy reunion? Ross throwing himself into Jim’s arms?

He could see now that it had been an idiotic idea. He was ready to get home, burrow himself under his empty covers, and start all over with the impossible task of forgetting Ross.

But for now, he could take refuge on this couch and escape into sleep.

 

 

When next he woke, it was to a gust of wind rattling the window panes and to an itch in his nose. That was probably courtesy of the dust that was gracefully floating on air currents in the room, swirling and descending only to rise again in a sort of a dance. Jim cursed his allergies and lifted his hand to scratch the itch away, pausing when he encountered a smooth, fluffy something against his skin.

Itch forgotten, he blinked and sat up, staring at the copper and blue blanket thrown over his body. A blanket that had not been there the last time he’d woken up and heard Ross on the phone.

That could mean only one thing: Ross must have brought it in and spread it over Jim after he’d fallen asleep for the second time. That was like another blow to the head, though from an opposite direction - and now Jim was almost reeling from it, bewildered and touched at the same time.

Had Ross been checking on him? And why - had he wanted to talk before heading out to „El’s“ place? Wait a second - was he out already? And why suddenly show concern when he could barely speak to Jim before – had Jim looked so pitiful there at the end, distraught, barely able to stand and bleeding from the hit to his face, that Ross wanted to at least take care of Jim’s basic needs?

Was this a way for Ross to appease his own conscience?

Whatever the reason, Jim had no idea what to make of the kind gesture.

The surprise had cleared the last wisps of sleep from Jim‘s mind as effectively as a bucket of cold water to the face. He ran his hands over the soft surface of the blanket; it seemed new, barely used. He frowned at it, but it didn’t give him any clues whatsoever as to what was going on, so he pushed it aside, somewhat reluctantly. What was the time, anyway? It had to be quite a bit later; his body felt distinctly more rested than the first time his nap was interrupted.

He yawned and looked around, listening for any sounds from Ross or an indication of where he might be. Not a sound was heard through the house, though that didn‘t necessarily mean Ross was gone; he could be just around the corner, upstairs, or toiling away quietly in the yard. Or he could be... well. At his fiancee’s.

Jim wasn´t sure if that was a relief or no. Mostly, it wasn’t.

Waiting to find out Ross‘ whereabouts was not an option anymore, though Jim was less than certain that he wanted to run into Ross again. But now that he´d gotten some actual sleep, the urge to move was upon him and his body was badgering him about all of his needs that he typically attended to with an iron regularity. Food, shower, fresh clothes. He was missing his Saturday Aikido at two; there was no way he would be back on time for that. Not that he hadn’t missed that before when Friday night got wild and crazy when he was with Ross: on days like that he’d make soup and then go for a run later. But today, neither of those was very likely to happen.

He pushed the blanket off and got to his feet, tossing it over the back of the couch instead of folding it like he normally would. He gave it one last glance as it landed and something nudged at his brain: Ross‘ last words before he´d slipped out of the room after seeing to Jim’s wound. What was it he’d said? Take your time?

It could have been a polite phrase, an extension of hospitality that he would offer anyone, regardless of his feelings towards them. Or had it been a genuine wish on Ross‘ part?

Jim huffed in frustration.

_The fuck is going on in your head, Ross?_

But there was no chance he could ask Ross now: if the lingering silence was any indicator, he was gone. One thing Jim was sure of, though: even if Ross was still here, Jim didn’t have another fight in him.

He glanced out of the window as he passed it: the sky was still busy with racing, intermittent clouds, the sun streaming down past them. The grass was bending whenever the swift breeze pushed against it. The half-finished front garden looked part gloomy and part cheerful in the uncertain sunlight and Jim had to admit Ross had done a fair bit of work here on his own, even with lack of money and his bad leg hampering his efforts. Too bad Jim was probably never going to see the end result.

He sighed. There was nothing for it: he had to figure out what the time was. If Ross was gone, he could also return sometime soon. Jim steeled himself for the inevitable and turned away from the view to the door.

Two strides towards it he paused. A series of orange post-it notes ran down the middle of the door’s dark wooden surface – four or five in all – standing out as bright and as out of place as a shiner to the eye.

Jim frowned. Were these notes meant for him?

Was Ross saying things on odd bits of paper again, instead of face to face –

Jim surged forward and nearly tore the topmost note in half in his haste to peel it off.

Ross’ scribble was unmistakable, and Jim’s heart ached at the way it curled around his name. Trepidation growing, he scanned the message.

_Jim –_

_I had to run out for something and stop by El’s. I’ll be back around 3. There’s food in the fridge, feel free to–_

Jim took the second square of paper and kept on reading, frown deepening.

_-to grab some. It’s not much but you’re probably hungry. The bathroom upstairs is a work in progress but the shower works if you want to-_

_-use it,_ the third note continued. _There are more pills in the cabinet in the parlor in case your head hurts. Please help yourself to anything._

Such a show of thoughtfulness was unexpected. Jim felt the urge to pinch himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming anymore.

But that was nothing compared to the last note that he peeled off.

_It was a shock, seeing you earlier. Sorry if I seemed harsh. You have every right to hate me and I don’t blame you for wanting to yell at me. But if you want-_

The message ended there and no more squares were pasted to the door. Confused, Jim stared at the words as if he could force them to finish Ross‘ thought by scrutinizing them enough. But nothing manifested to him miraculously, not until it occured to him to turn the little paper over.

Ross‘ scribble continued there, as if he’d run out of sticky notes in the process of writing to Jim.

_\- to talk some more, you’re welcome to stay. But I‘ll understand if you don’t. R._

 

 

It took Jim a moment to wrap his mind around what he’d just read.

Rooted to the old floorboards, the sticky notes’ adhesive clinging to his fingers, he studied the words Ross had left behind. Nampara’s walls were distinctly silent around him, and despite standing witness to Ross’ new life and habits, the house didn’t seem ready to give out any of its master’s secret or to help Jim map out the complicated workings of his mind. And complicated they were, because this – Jim scanned the message again – was such an unexpected turnaround in tone and intention –

It occurred to him that this message was quite possibly longer than the note Ross had left as a goodbye one year ago.

That one had given him a gaping wound. This – he stared at vivid orange squares stuck to his fingers – gave him something else, if not quite hope.

„You bastard,“ he murmured. „You can’t make anything easy, can you?“

If this man wasn’t going to drive Jim crazy, nothing else ever was.

 

 

As much as he’d made up his mind mere second ago, the note from Ross had just successfully un-made it. Did he want to stay? He was hungry; yes. A shower sounded great too, but he wasn’t sure if it was appropriate to take Ross up on that particular offer. It seemed too private, too intrusive after all this time apart, though it would be nice to be able to take one now and not after five or six more hours in the car.

But most importantly, did he want to talk to Ross? Was there a chance they could be civil and forgiving and talk like mature adults for a change? He wasn’t sure if that was possible and whether he wanted to find out.

He flipped through the messages, uncertainty gnawing at him.

Ross said he’d be back around three.

Jim set out in search of a clock: once he knew the time, he could go from there.

 

 

 

Despite knowing that Ross was out and that he’d extended an invitation for Jim to stick around, he still felt like a sort of an intruder as he shoved the orange notes into his jean’s back pocket and crossed the hallway to where he thought the kitchen – and a clock - might be.

His first guess proved correct. The kitchen was smaller, though a large window opened from it to the back yard. A quick peak through it revealed more started projects, piles of construction materials dotting what seemed to be intended as a future patio, judging from the gravel spread on the ground and the stacks of stone tiles. A small hill rolled up gently away from the cleared out space, grass swaying along the hill’s bumps and dips.

Despite the chaos of renovating, it looked peaceful and for a quick second Jim felt the outdoors beckoning for him to come out and stroll through the grass.

He spotted a digital clock on the oven, which proclaimed it was 1:43. So there was a little bit of time: time to grab a quick bite and more importantly, to decide whether he wanted to stick around.

His stomach encouraged Jim by emitting a loud grumble, so he pulled open the fridge, keeping his expectations low as far as ready-to-eat food. To his surprise, the fridge didn’t only contain carbonated drinks and eggs, Ross‘ staple items when he and Jim had met. No, there were actual vegetables – not even rotten; two pots that seemed to hold leftovers, and an assortment of other things Jim considered normal but that Ross had never thought of buying before they’d met. He spied yogurt, a few kinds of cheeses, a cut of beef, cream. The last thing put Jim in the mind of coffee, but his curiosity now centered on the two well-used, scratched up blue pots.

A quick peek revealed beef stew in one and barley soup in the other, neither looking half bad and both making Jim’s bafflement rise to a new level. Had Ross made those? Jim had been the head cook when they lived together, Ross more of the sandwich and chips person. It seemed Ross was now dipping his toes in the culinary world as well. Unless...

The idea that maybe Elizabeth had cooked these meals for Ross opened up before Jim and he almost put the soup back inside in distaste. His mind flashed to an image of Elizabeth and Ross preparing a meal together right here where he was standing: he could see them sipping wine, feeding each other bits of the stew and laughing in perfect lover’s bliss as the pot bubbled on the stove.

Hunger nearly dissipating, Jim groaned and chased the image away. Despite his mind’s suggestions, the kitchen had a distinctly bachelor-ish look: all function and no embellishments besides a crookedly-hanging calendar next to the fridge. If Elizabeth had cooked here, she had left no trace of her presence. It was still a possibility, but...

Jim sighed, shrugged, and went in search of a bowl and a spoon.

 

 

Later, the dish cleaned and put away and stomach satisfied and even slightly impressed, Jim sipped coffee from a chipped red mug and gazed out of the kitchen window again. The time that had passed had brought him no closer to deciding whether to stay and the indecision was making him feel restless, off-balance. Would they just end up yelling at each other again if they tried to speak? He hadn’t realized how much seeing Ross would affect him, but even now just thinking of being in the same room made Jim’s nerves tingle.

A tiny part of him, the one that had not yet given up hope altogether, whispered that he should stay. If Ross was extending the olive branch of peace, maybe Jim should give it a chance.

It was now 1:59. He glanced at the ceiling, thinking of the shower Ross had mentioned. If he was taking time to decide, he might as well do something practical in the meantime. Admittedly, he was also curious about the house and Ross’ progress with it and this gave him a genuine excuse to see more of it without officially snooping.

He huffed and then set the coffee down, heading up in search of the aforementioned bathroom.

What surprised him, as he traipsed up the creaking stairs, was that in spite of his expectations  Nampara didn‘t give off an unfriendly vibe to him. Maybe it had been irrational to see the house as an enemy that had contributed to their breakup, but Jim had expected to feel unwelcome in Ross’ home. It seemed though that if a house could soak and exude the emotions and dispositions of its owner, Nampara wasn’t like that at all.

Maybe the old walls had seen enough lifetimes – Ross had said the house was almost two-hundred fifty years old when they‘d visited the first time – that it couldn’t be bothered by this little episodic drama of one of it’s many owners.

Or maybe, just maybe, the house didn’t hold any grudged against Jim.

 

 

In the upper hallway, all the rooms were closed but one. Jim picked his way past dusty picture frames on the walls, all holding old black-and-white photographs of people he didn’t know, and found that the only open door lead to the bathroom.

Ross was right: it was definitely part construction zone. Where the tub used to be, there was now just uncovered plumbing and indentations from its feet. The shelf above the sink held Ross‘ knick-knacks – an unused shaving kit, toothbrush, toothpaste, a comb with a mass of tangled curly hair. Jim swallowed, memories of sharing similar spaces invading his mind and almost making him turn right back around: Ross always missing his brush and using Jim’s, Jim untangling blond and brown hair from it on a daily basis and unclogging the drain every goddamn month; the two of them brushing teeth alongside each other and laughing at something, then Ross bumping Jim’s hip with his own, dressed in nothing but boxers...

It was almost too intimate, too cutting.

Jim turned away from the sink and his eyes fell on a towel which was slung over the top of the shower stall´s door. It was folded and another towel was hanging on a hook on the wall, so it looked like that one might have been left for him there.

Jim pursed his lips at it. Fine. He was going to take advantage of Ross´ hospitality a little further. Maybe the shower would wake his brain up a little more, let him make up his mind once and for all.

 

 

He resisted the urge to peek into the other bedrooms when he exited the bathroom some minutes later, hair damp and teeth finger-scrubbed with Ross‘ mint toothpaste. Instead of exploring he went back downstairs, trying not to think of the moment when he‘d picked up Ross‘ hairbrush just a minute ago in the bathroom and started combing his hair out of old habit, only halfway through remembering where he was. As if caught in the midst of committing a burglary, Jim had nearly dropped it with a curse that echoed in the small room. A few blond hairs had already mingled with the mass of Ross‘ brown ones, serving as evidence of his crime of falling into familiar ruts.

The more frustrating problem was that he was still not sure what to do. The kitchen clock told him it was 2:19. The coffee was not hot anymore but he downed it and cleaned out the mug; he was tempted to see if Ross had a stash of sweets in any of the cupboards but he refrained. Out of things to do, he went to the front door and stood outside, looking out past the gate and to his car.

He couldn’t bring himself to go that way, knowing that if he got into the car and left now, he would never come back. The orange post-it notes, and more importantly, the words left on them by Ross, were burning a hole in the pocket of his jeans.

_If you want to talk some more, you’re welcome to stay –_

He squinted up at the sun, blocked by a long puffy cloud, grey on the bottom and white the edges. The clouds further over the water seemed denser, darker - did they mean rain? He could hear the sea as well and curiosity got the better of him. He looked towards the edge of the cliffs, thinking he could look around and still leave before Ross came home if he wanted to.

The grass and wind beckoned to him and walked out of the garden, his feet leading him to the sound of the sea.

 

 

It was sort of unbelievable that Ross got to see this everyday. Jim could now see the appeal, understood the pull it could have on Ross – the view was incredible. It was louder than Jim had remembered from their short walk on the cliffs here over a year ago, when they were scouting the place after Ross had signed the ownership papers. The waves crashed endlessly, interchangeably, one mass of water constantly reshaping itself and retreating only to attack again. He stared down into the waves and then out into the distance, hair whipping around in the salty wind.

He sat down, transfixed by the scope of the view. The grass shifted around him, tickling his arms as he rested them on his knees, ankles crossed in front of him.

Strangely enough, out here he found he didn’t have to think – he could just be. It only took several minutes for his mind to drift away from the endless why and when and how come that had been circling around and around for a long time now. The absence of the pressing thoughts was a welcome change; one he didn’t expect to encounter on Ross’ property. But now that he was here he couldn’t tear his eyes off from the hypnotizing pulse of the sea. Birds were flying over the cliffs and Jim watched, all sense of time and urgency falling away.

 

 

In the distance behind his back, sooner than he’d expected, he heard an engine approach.

It rumbled to a stop in front of the house, quite possibly next to Jim’s own car. That it was still parked there would betray Jim’s presence to Ross as clearly as a shining beacon.

It seemed by not making a decision, he had made one after all.

Still, he didn’t move. Ross might be confused when finding his house empty, but he’d discover Jim eventually...

Once or twice he thought he could hear Ross calling over the roar of the surf, but he kept his eyes on the horizon and waited.

 

 

“You shouldn’t sit so close to the edge.”

He turned, twisting his torso to look up at Ross who was gazing down at him with a peculiar expression on his face: troubled, relieved, thoughtful. He also wore a budding smile of amusement at having caught Jim unawares, a note of satisfaction to it; it softened his lines a little, making him look more approachable.

Jim didn’t quite meet his gaze. Instead, he turned back towards the sea.

“Why?” he said, trying to steady his heartbeat.

“Once in a while a bit of the ground gives,” Ross explained, then sat down next to Jim, disregarding his own warning. “You’re probably safe now, though, since it hasn’t rained in a while. That’s when it usually happens.”

Jim gestured towards the clouds with his chin. “What about these clouds? Is it going to rain from them?”

“Probably,” Ross said, focusing at the encroaching, deepening mass up ahead. “Forecast said we might get quite a storm later.”

“Oh.” Jim used Ross’ momentary distraction to cast a covert glance his way, in order to reacquaint himself with the familiar lines of his face. Being this close once more, within reach of him, made Jim realize how much he’d missed running his thumbs over Ross’ features, how much he’d missed being able to trace and admire them freely and frequently. They formed a picture of perfection together: Ross’ nose, slender and elegant, the strong line of his jaw, his eloquent eyebrows.

Then there were Ross’ eyes, light brown and warm at most times, though they could flare up with such temper, lust, frustration, or joy that it always took Jim’s breath away.

And Ross’ hair, dark and wild even when he did attempt to tame it. Right now, the wind had teased a few rogue strands from where they were kept back by a hairband; they fluttered spasticly in the air and made Jim want to touch them.

He returned his gaze to the sea before Ross could catch him staring, trying to focus his thoughts on practical matters. “I suppose if a storm’s on the way, I should think about -“

“Did you grab some food?” Ross interrupted him. “The stew probably wasn’t the best, it’s only my second stab at the recipe…”

“ _You_ made it?” Jim said, and Ross gave an undeniably sheepish nod. Which was stupidly endearing.

“Yeah.” A slight blush crept up Ross’ neck. “I’m trying to improve my abysmal cooking skills.”

“Oh. I thought maybe-“ Jim stopped himself from finishing the thought.

Ross raised an eyebrow in question.

Jim shrugged, reluctant to admit what he’d suspected earlier.

“My first thought was that maybe Elizabeth made it.”

He didn’t want to say her name, have it out in the open like that, acknowledge that she was a part of Ross’ life like Jim used to be.

Ross looked down, shook his head. “No, I – I started learning how to cook from youtube,” he confessed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I figured once the house is fixed up and I have guests, it would be nice to offer dinner if anyone wanted it… Make a bit of extra money.” He paused, cleared his throat. “But you’re probably not interested in hearing my plans…”

Jim bit his lip. “Well, I wasn’t exactly open to hearing them before, was I?” he commented. Ross didn’t say anything and Jim didn’t want to push, so he said: “This place is really breathtaking.”

Ross smiled, a rueful tinge to it. “It is.”

“I can see why it draws you. And I’m pretty sure the hotel will be a success.” Jim took a deep breath. “You must be happy here-“

It was not quite a question, but he left it there between them, making it appear like one.

Ross stared ahead as if deep in thought. “I am,” he said after a moment, and Jim’s heart sank at hearing that. Guilt stabbed at him: did he want Ross to be unhappy?

But Ross wasn’t done speaking. “And I’m not. I’m happy to have this house back and to be working on it. But I’m not happy with how I left, with how I-“

Like Jim, he cut the sentence off abruptly. Jim let it sit there until the silence stretched too far, only the wind moving between them, ruffling their clothes and hair.

“With how you _what_?” he asked finally.

Ross’ answer was mumbled, barely audible over the sound of the waves.

“With how I’ve felt living without you."

It took a moment for Jim to collect himself; Ross admitting something like that was unexpected. And – good. Yet the hurt, angry part of Jim wanted to yell at him – _then why didn’t you pick up my calls or call me back, you twat_? The vengeful part of him nagged him to add: ‘ _Clearly you’ve gotten over it since you are engaged now’_ …

He searched for something reasonable he could say instead.

Ross shifted next to him, probably thinking that Jim’s silence meant more anger brewing. “Look, since you stayed – I have to say this.”  He sounded urgent now, earnest. “I know I hurt you, Jim. What I did was beyond reproachable, it was bordering on betrayal, and as soon as I left, I wished I could take it back. Christ, I fucking bawled half my way down here after I started driving – I hated myself but I didn’t know what else to do. It probably means I’m not right in the head and frankly I’m completely blown away you still have feelings for me, because if I were you, I’d bash my head in for what I did to you. For weeks after, I expected you to come down here and do just that – but then I thought maybe I wasn’t worth even that much effort for what I did. But it was too late to take it back and if I had tried to apologize – I figured you’d bite my head off.”

He paused and Jim couldn’t move, let alone answer, though his heart raced inside him like a runaway chariot. He had no idea Ross had had any regrets – that he’d almost turned back -

Ross gave a mirthless laugh. “It’s really stupid, because – because as soon as I did it, I realized I shouldn’t have, but it was done and so I went on fucking it up further by being too much of a coward to pick up the phone, text you, anything. I was so fucking tortured about it. But you didn’t want to live here and I didn’t want to force you and I also didn’t want to lose this place because it’s all I have from my family and for years I thought I wouldn’t ever set foot in this house again. But you didn’t seem to be on board with me fixing it up and I knew I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if I sold it or let it go to shit.” He took a deep breath, blew it out forcefully. “Unfortunately, while trying to do one thing that mattered to me right, I managed to totally fuck up another…”

Ross’ face was a portrait of deep anguish. His recollections stirred the dormant pain inside Jim again and the wounds pulsed with fresh agony. But Jim was everything but indifferent to Ross’ self-reproach; the need to ease his pain was still there as well.

Ross kept on talking, the stream of words rushing out now that he’d started.

“You have no idea how many times I’d picked up the phone to call you, to tell you that I’d been a total idiot and that I missed you like hell. How many times I held my finger over the dial button and wished I had the fucking guts to push it and at least hear your voice though I was sure you’d want nothing to do with me and probably not even pick it up. You’d move on, I figured, to someone who isn’t actually as pigheaded as me, and I told myself I had no right to bother you anymore. I had no clue that – that you –“

Jim snorted. “That I was just as much of a pigheaded idiot as you?”

Ross shook his head with a soft huff. “That you might still feel anything for me.”

Jim looked up at the sky. “God, I didn’t _want_ to, Ross, but I couldn’t stop myself – it’s not exactly how that works.”

“Yeah, I know that now.” His voice was deep with a self-derision. “Apparently you can’t just order yourself to feel something you don’t – or to stop feeling something you do… I thought I’d learned that lesson once already – and ironically, with the same person...”

“What do you mean?” Jim wasn’t sure he was following, though he had an inkling.

Ross grimaced. “Well, I once thought I could be straight if I chose to, that I could go against how I felt. But that didn’t work out, did it. And despite knowing that I can’t just force myself to feel something I don’t, here I am once again, trying to convince myself that I can be happy with Elizabeth if I just work on it hard enough, if I remind myself daily how much my cousin screwed her over and that she married him basically because I broke up with her –“

“Whoa, wait a second,” Jim jumped in, outrage erupting at Ross’ last remark. “What are you talking about?”

Ross looked up and their eyes met; Ross’ darker ones resigned and cheerless and Jim’s blue ones flashing with anger.

“She told me that’s why she’d married him,” Ross said, shrugging. “She did get engaged to him about six months after her and I broke up.”

Jim’s anger soared until he was seething. He fought to keep his voice low. “Jeezus, Ross, did it occur to you she might be manipulating you? Knowingly or not… I mean, she didn’t _have_ to marry Francis.”

“Well, I guess Geoffrey Charles was already on the way then too. So in a way…”

Jim frowned. “Okay, maybe, but she still didn’t _have_ to marry him. And she didn’t have to sleep with him in the first place – telling you that she did it because you left her is not exactly fair. It’s not your fault that she decided to fall into bed with your piece-of-shit cousin.”

Ross said nothing, looking down at his hands and avoiding Jim’s gaze. He looked – troubled, almost ashamed -

A terrifying thought burst into Jim’s mind then, a suspicion that knocked all breath out of him. He was suddenly filled with dread so overwhelming that he couldn’t control it; he blurted out:

“Is – Is Elizabeth pregnant?”

He didn’t have to add “with you” at the end; it was perfectly clear that was what he meant. He didn’t want to ask this, either – because the risk was there that Ross’ answer could be positive and then any hope – even the most far-fetched sliver of it - would be gone. The worst part was, it made sense: it would justify Ross’ sense of duty towards her more fully than before.

Suddenly Jim was sure it was true. His heart turned over in him until it felt like the waves below were dragging it down, scraping it against rocks and cliffs until nothing was left of it.

If this was Ross’ real reason, it was definitely the end.

Ross’ head had shot up upon hearing the question. He stared at Jim, startled.

“What?! No!” he exclaimed. “Did you – did you think that was why-“ He looked genuinely taken aback, his eyes wide. “I mean, she can’t be, we haven’t even -“

He stammered something else, but Jim didn’t quite hear him through the rush of relief that swept over him like a waterfall. His heart had been bruised by the sudden attack of fear, but it was definitely still in his chest and intact, beating away like a mad drum.

“You thought I promised to marry her because I got her pregnant?” Ross said, now the realization making him subdued. “I haven’t – we haven’t – slept together.”

Jim let out a slow breath. Despite the relief, or maybe because of it, he felt like he was on the verge of tears again. He didn’t want to be. “But you did get engaged to her.”

“Francis ruined her life. I felt obliged – to her and Geoffrey Charles, to the house… And we know each other already, her and I…” Ross glanced down at his boots, still looking decidedly dejected. “Plus I figured I might as well marry her, since nothing better could ever come along.“

“Nothing better than Elizabeth?” Jim ventured.

Ross looked up and gave him a wry, desolate smile.

“Nothing better than you.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hope inches in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting closer to the end now...
> 
> Thanks bunches to dandelion for the beta <3

Jim’s heart, beating frantically just a moment ago, thudded to a metaphorical stop.

 

He stared at Ross in bewilderment, feeling as though he was a fish and the ocean had just decided to toss him out of the water and straight on top of the cliff, with no prior warning or explanation. All he could do was gape as he tried to align himself with this strange new world.

 

He managed, with some difficulty, to get oxygen where it needed to go and that kicked in the ability to speak.

 

“Ross - are you serious?”

 

Ross gave a nod, tight lipped now that he’d revealed this much.

 

Jim wasn’t sure if he wanted to lunge at him and kiss him, or shove him in the chest for all this trouble that’s been between them. Or, as a third option, if he should just jump down the cliff into the waves, because that would at least correspond with the conflicting, raging thoughts inside him. Besides, it might cool him off and he sorely needed it. Sitting still was like the complete antithesis to how he felt and it was getting harder to maintain a semblance of outward calm.

 

“God, Ross,” he said, “if you mean that, then -  then why the hell are we sitting here like this, what the hell have we done?”

 

Ross gave him a look more miserable than ever and shook his head. “I don’t have a clue. It’s not… it’s not what I wanted.”

 

“Me neither,” Jim murmured. He bit his lip, gazing up; the clouds were converging above them, fusing into a unified front of deeper gray almost over their heads. The wind had picked up a little bit too, bringing with it a hint of damp chill.

 

He glanced at Ross again, at that profile that had haunted his dreams for a year. Ross’ eyes were subdued, the spark in them turned down to a low simmer.

 

“I thought – somehow I always thought you and I would make it,” Jim admitted. “We were – so good, you and I. I thought we’d figure everything out. Anything.”

 

“Yeah, I thought the same,” Ross said, then sighed. “I’m sorry I fucked it up, Jim –“

 

It was Jim’s turn to shake his head. “It’s not just – I wish you’d talked to me, told me how important it was for you to get this place back in shape.” He nodded towards the house that sat up the hill above them, impassive, observing.  “But I didn’t – I didn’t exactly encourage that with my attitude, did I?”

 

Ross met his eye for a split second, then looked away, saying nothing.

 

Now Jim felt worse than ever. Yes, Ross did hurt him, but Jim’d be damned if he let him carry all the blame when it wasn’t just his. “I was thinking about us a lot on the way here – don’t think I’m convinced the fault’s just yours, Ross. I - god, I know I can be so fucking rigid sometimes, and I think I was telling myself I was being honest with you when – “

 

Ross raised his eyebrows and lifted his eyes to Jim’s from the swaying grass he’d been scrutinizing.

 

Jim couldn’t keep the bitterness from his voice. “When I was really just being an uncompromising ass.”

 

A flicker of a smile tugged on Ross’ lips, and then he shook his head again. “Jim –“

 

“No. Listen. I thought we could make it through anything, you and I, but I didn’t exactly put the work where it was needed, did I? I mean, we both made mistakes, but I should have realized if I want something, it takes sacrifice, too. If it’s all just lined up according to what I want, then no wonder you felt trapped and like you had no other choice but to go.”

 

It hurt to admit it; it was hard to come to terms with the fact that he had quite possibly pushed Ross away. Being angry at Ross, that was easier; he could, apparently, sustain that for an entire year. Looking himself in the eye though, making that connection between his own behavior and Ross’ departure, that was more painful than any of the wrath he’d held.

 

Ross looked out over the sea, eyes narrowing. “Well, I could have still talked to you. I just – maybe too much happened so quickly, I felt overwhelmed, everything was shifting. Selling Carnmore, getting the house, you being against it, the news about my-“

 

He broke off, but Jim caught the slight movement of Ross’ hand as it wandered absently down to his right shin, rubbing it and then dropping out of sight.

 

“News about what?” he asked, despite the fact that answer had already given itself away.

 

Ross shrugged. “It’s not important.”

 

But Jim wasn’t having it. “Your leg.”

 

Ross nodded, but didn’t elaborate.

 

His continued evasiveness on this subject rankled, but Jim sent away the pang of annoyance. Was it so hard to understand why Ross wasn’t keen on exploring the issue? He was clearly having trouble coming to terms with the state of his problematic leg. That thought made Jim’s heart soften; the pain Ross had dealt with on the regular before they broke up had been enough – the muscle spasms that came and went, the aching nerves, the throbbing. If it’d gotten worse and Ross was saddled with a grim outcome on top of that – it had to be a bitter pill to swallow.

 

He forced his voice into neutrality. “How bad is it?”

 

Ross jiggled his knee; a restless habit of his. He scrunched up his face as if the topic was distasteful to him to speak of.

 

“I’ve got a new doctor here. But I guess he agrees with what my previous doctor thought.”

 

“Which is?” Jim prompted, treading carefully now that Ross was talking.

 

Ross shrugged again. “Nothing I didn’t suspect already. The old surgery they did was botched and either I go under the knife again – with dubious results at best – or I let it be and watch it slowly get worse. Or not so slowly if I keep doing all the construction work.”

 

“So if you do surgery, he can’t guarantee that your leg will improve?”

 

“He said some of the nerves are damaged beyond repair. The bone too – but they can try and reinforce it with steel rods or something. But it’s risky. They won’t really know the state of things until they cut it open, so.”

 

“And you don’t want to go that route?”

 

Ross shook his head. “Not while I’m working on Nampara.”

 

“But if you wait and it gets worse?”

 

“If I wait,” Ross said, his tone dark but resigned, “then there’s going to be more damage to repair once I do go under. Especially doing what I’m doing.”

 

“Oh.” Jim cringed inwardly. “Shit, Ross, that’s stupid.”

 

“Tell me about it,” Ross said. “But I mean, what choice do I have? I can’t afford to hire people to do the heavy work, I barely have enough cash for all the materials I need to buy. I’m trying to take it easy, but that’s really a joke when I’m hauling stone tiles for the patio or wooden beams…“

 

Jim cursed. “Do you at least do physical therapy or something?” He remembered that Ross had gone a few times before the Cornwall exodus but was convinced it wasn’t really worth much. Jim also remembered how he used to give Ross’ leg a massage once a week or so, usually when the weekend was approaching and he’d had long days on his feet at Carnmore under his belt, in need of relieving the worst of the intermittent cramps or aches. The soft noises issuing from Ross’ mouth when Jim soothed the tired muscles and nerves had lingered – wistful memories of seeing Ross at some of his most vulnerable.

 

The present Ross, meanwhile, tore off a long blade of grass and gave it a moody glare. “Yeah, I go when I have time.” He started to shred the stalk into pieces, his knee vibrating up and down again.

 

Jim knew exactly what that meant. “So, not very often?” he asked, inserting a gentle teasing note in there.

 

The corner of Ross’ mouth lifted as he picked up on it with ease. “Yeah, not very often. I mean, there’s so much work and if I want to open the business by next spring, I have a lot of shit to do. Right now the leg’s not _too_ bad. And I did hire a guy for the roof, I mean, after I almost fell from the ladder I had to admit to myself that it wasn’t worth it –“

 

“You almost what?” Jim interjected. “Fucking hell, Ross.”

 

Ross looked sheepish. “Yeah, come to find out, it’s not exactly a picnic to get a spasm as you’re trying to fix the thatches around the attic window. I sort of had most of my weight on the bad leg at that moment, but I managed to catch myself before I slipped too far down.”

 

A sick feeling crept up Jim’s spine at the idea, despite Ross sitting next to him, fine as day. “I can’t fucking believe you,” he groaned.

 

Ross smiled, as if Jim’s indignation pleased him.

 

“Well, I did loathe myself a lot back then but not enough to risk the ladder again, if that is any reassurance.”

 

He threw the ripped up remains of the grass blade towards the ocean, but the wind snatched them right up and tossed them back, scattering them all over Ross’ shirt. Jim had the need to reach for them and pick them off; it was startling how much he still wanted to touch Ross, under whatever pretense.

 

“I guess it’s got to be enough,” Jim said. “I suppose there is no such thing as taking it easy while you’re doing all this work.”  


“No, there really isn’t.” Ross brushed the grass off, but one or two of the pieces still clung on and Jim had to tear his gaze away.

 

“Is the leg much worse than before you – than a year ago?”

 

Ross paused, chewing on his lip. “A little, I suppose.”

 

That seemed to be a gross understatement. Jim lifted an eyebrow at Ross, determined not to let him get away with it. “Is that what you tell your doctor, or are you actually sincere with _him_?”

 

Ross gave Jim a sharp, piercing look, his lips parting as if he was readying a scathing remark. Jim almost regretted saying it – he didn’t want them to descend back into an argument – but then Ross deflated, shoulders slumping.

 

“Yeah, of course I am – it’s just – it’s hard to talk about this, okay? Jesus. I’m not – I’m not okay with the fact that no matter what, one day I’ll have to walk around with a cane or worse. I’ve been trying to reconcile with it, but it’s fucking hard. I try to tell the doctor how it really is, but I’m just – I don’t know. I’m not ready. And sometimes it’s easier to tell others it’s fine because then I can pretend that it is for a while.”

 

Now the need to embrace Ross was screaming at Jim. He had to order his hands not to move because it was still all they wanted – despite last year’s events – to do. “I get that,” he said instead, quietly. “Fuck, I’m sorry…”

 

“I know I need to just get over myself and accept it,” Ross went on. “And last year when I found out - I knew you’d be worried and probably be against me fixing Nampara even more if I told you how things stood, so I kept my mouth shut, and... Anyway. Like I said, I’m a coward.” He looked up and that sad smile was gracing his lips again. “And look where that got us.”

 

Jim’s heart sank. If Ross was a coward, then Jim had been one as well, and the thought made him sick to his stomach again.

 

“You’re probably right, if I had known about your leg, it’d be just one more reason for me to stack against this place,” he said. “But if you were a coward, Ross, then I was one too. I refused to even consider making Nampara a part of our lives. I told you earlier that I’d had no idea how important this place was to you, but I think that on some level I knew it. Or I would have realized it if I’d wanted to, if I looked harder. I guess I was just hoping that if I keep listing all the bullet points against it, you’d let it go and we’d go back to where we were.” He shook his head at his own glaring selfishness. “God, right now I kind of want to punch myself.”

 

“Welcome to my world,” Ross quipped.

 

Jim flopped onto his back in the grass, hands stuck in his hair and eyes closed. “Christ. We really fucked it up badly, didn’t we?”

 

“Yeah. We did.”

 

The fact that they were finally seeing things the same way did not bring much comfort. Jim’s throat seemed to be blocked with something bitter – self-recrimination, bile, tears, or all three mixed together. He sat up again, something like defeat closing in on him. “God, I’m sorry I was such a thoughtless, condescending idiot to you. I should have done so many things differently.”

 

“Me too.” Ross stared down at his own hands; another blade of grass was getting shredded without mercy.

 

Jim felt the tears bypass his throat and push into the corners of his eyes.

 

As if on cue, the clouds in the distance across the water melted down and started pouring rain.

 

 

 

 

 

Jim watched as the horizon blurred, the falling rain forming a dark gray bridge between the sea and the mass of clouds above. The front was steadily inching toward them but neither of them moved as if now that they’d opened up the festering belly of what their relationship had become, they weren’t sure how to proceed in the face of the dissected mess.

 

He hadn’t thought they’d actually be able to do this – talk of their mistakes, untwist the knots of thoughts and emotions.

 

Would the post mortem write-up do them any good? He wasn’t sure. Yet along with the deep disappointment he felt, a sense of calm came over him as well as the wounds inside him seemed to start breathing for the first time since the breakup. Whether they were soothed by the honesty the two of them had shared or whether it was the effect of this place or simply Ross’ presence, he couldn’t tell – maybe it was a combination of all what was pushing him back towards his equilibrium. Maybe that was what Jim had needed: to confront what he’d avoided for the past year, wallowing in the agony of it without ever seeking true healing.

 

As for the future –

 

Who knew.

 

But he wanted. God, sitting there and watching the storm unravel he realized he still wanted Ross, was still attracted to this complicated man sitting next to him. He saw now that the anger that had possessed him for the past twelve months had stemmed from his conviction that being apart from each other was wrong; it was a protest and a revolt against the separation.

 

What Ross felt, though…

 

He’d confessed, just minutes ago, that he didn’t think anything could surpass what he and Jim used to have. But did that mean he wanted it back, that he’d break off the engagement to Elizabeth for a chance to start over? Would Ross’ proud, noble side let him take back his promise to her?  


Jim wasn’t sure he had the courage to ask right now. Maybe he didn’t have the right to ask it at all; he had been complicit in their problems and he couldn’t quite demand Ross change all of his plans just because Jim had finally taken the road trip to Cornwall.

 

But he couldn’t leave now, not right after Ross and he had cloven out a sort of a truce between them. The confessions they’d made bore too much weight; Ross didn’t seem too happy with the direction he’d taken and there was a sense of raw emotion still hiding right underneath the surface.

 

And besides, Jim owed Ross something. Something that he hadn’t given him a year ago and he should have done if he’d claimed he loved Ross as much as he did. And even if nothing more ultimately came off this visit, Jim could try to rectify this.

 

He stood up, startling Ross who lifted his face to him with a slight frown.

 

Jim gave a hesitant smile, extending a hand to his former boyfriend like an offering of friendship. “Would you show me around? Tell me about your plans?”

 

Ross tilted his head sideways, surprise manifesting in his features as he glanced at Jim’s open palm and then met his eye. “You mean, for Nampara?”

 

“Yeah. I’d like to see what you’re trying to do here.” Jim didn’t break the gaze, trying to convey he was sincere in his interest. “If you’re willing to show me.”

 

Ross blinked the surprise away and a faint smile flickered across his face. “Yeah, sure.” He accepted Jim’s hand, letting himself be pulled up to his feet. They kept their distance and both let go as soon as Ross was upright, but Ross’ warm, dry skin against Jim’s still sent a rush of longing all the way to Jim’s center. The firmness of Ross’ grasp and the strength backing it up made his heart falter as memories of their physical closeness flooded him.

 

He didn’t let it show, though maybe Ross wasn’t immune to similar thoughts either because he scratched the side of his head awkwardly, shoved the hand he’d given Jim in his jeans’ pocket, and then pointed at the sky over the Irish Sea.

 

“This weather will be here in an hour, I’m guessing,” he stated, his voice gruff. “So if you really want to see, we should probably start outside.”

 

“Sounds good,” Jim replied. “Lead the way.”

 

 

 

They headed up the hill, the wind nudging them from behind. Jim followed after Ross through the high grass of the meadow, covertly observing whether Ross’ gait was affected by the state of his leg and wondering just how much Ross was masking any pain or discomfort right now. There was barely any perceptible change in his walk that Jim could detect, but once in a while he thought Ross favored the injured leg just the slightest bit by quickly switching to the other foot mid-step. But if Jim blinked, he would miss it completely.

 

He could not miss, however, the shape of Ross’ shoulders – god, that wide, well-constructed frame, contoured under Ross’ black shirt, was even more muscular than before for all the intense work Ross had been immersed in…

 

The man in question turned around halfway up the hill and Jim looked up rather guiltily.

 

“How’s the cut on your jaw?” Ross asked. “Did you have a look at it?”

 

Jim refocused to himself and was surprised to note that he’d mostly forgotten about that moment he’d slammed himself with the door. Now that Ross had touched on it again, Jim realized the ache was coming back: the pain killers he’d taken in the morning were probably wearing off. He prodded the plaster with his index and middle finger and made a face when the wound underneath protested.

 

“No, I haven’t checked it yet,” he admitted. “The pills kind of made me forget it, but it’s coming to now. I suppose it’s going to bruise…”

 

“I’d say so,” Ross said. “You really got yourself good there.”

 

Jim felt heat rise in his cheeks and met Ross’ gaze head-on. “I don’t want to name any names, but I hear some people around here occasionally fall off ladders and poke themselves with rusty nails. I guess I wanted to see what all the hype is about with self-imposed harm.”

 

“Well played,” Ross chuckled. “I s’pose I’ll shut up now and offer you more painkillers? Since due to all that self-harm around here, I’m at least well stocked.”

 

“Maybe later, I’m fine right now,” Jim smiled back, though now that the injury had been spoken off, it seemed to magically come to life and started to send tiny twinges of pain to Jim every time he opened his mouth. “Maybe once we’re inside, if the rain’s heading this way.”

 

Ross nodded. “Sure, just let me know.” He started back up the hill with a lengthened stride. “But if I get carried away with the tour, feel free to stop me.”

 

That was definitely not what Jim intended to do.

 

 

 

Ross’ warning hadn’t been completely off point: he was a thorough and enthusiastic guide.

 

Which was only possible because he was also a thorough and enthusiastic re-builder of Nampara. Not a single brick, corner, architectural feature, or spot of land was too small to escape his attention; in the year or so since signing the deed on the property he had grown intimately familiar with what seemed like every inch of it.

 

He took Jim around the outside of the house first, speaking in terms Jim had no reference for; yet he found himself fascinated at every description and Ross’ casual, unconsciously made gestures at a repaired barn door here, a future vegetable garden there. A chimney that had nearly crumbled; bricks that were hard to procure because all of them had come from a quarry which was now closed. Ross pointed out subtle differences in original and new material – little details Jim would have not picked up on unless he’d gone around with a magnifying glass – and he considered himself a very observant person.

 

Ross’ love for the house oozed from every word and Jim listened, stewing in a strange solution of awe, affection, and shame. God, how could he have wished for Ross never to get this house? It would have been a crime, he realized, seeing how much love Ross was pouring into the repairs. Jim’s own selfishness was more and more apparent to him the further they progress around Nampara in full circle: he now knew exactly what Ross intended for the patio (‘it’s a bed and _breakfast_ , so if I’ve got people for one whole meal I better make it memorable during that one month of good summer weather we get’, he’d said wryly), how he planned on expanding the trails around the house over time and possibly get bikes for guests, and how strong the wind could get around here _(‘you could be standing right next to someone and have to shout for them to hear what you’re saying’_ ). Jim could only conclude that on such days, breakfast would be better served inside.

 

Rain ambushed them just as Ross lead Jim up the path that vined away from the back of the house; they hadn’t considered the expansive view offered from the top of the slope for more than a second before a large raindrop smacked Jim on the shoulder and another one got Ross on the tip of his nose.

 

“Here it comes,” Ross said, throwing a look of displeasure up at the clouds for having the gall to interrupt what was mostly a monologue randomly interspersed with Jim’s questions. “I guess it’s time to move this into the house, if you can stand more of my rambling.”

 

“I’m good,” Jim assured him. “I want to see it.” What he hadn’t quite added was that he would presently give his right hand just to keep Ross talking; he could see the driven, determined boyfriend from their happy times emerging again and that brought out not just nostalgia, but also a weird sense of pride. It reminded him why he’d fallen in love with Ross: he was a man of action, addicted to getting things done and more than capable of it.

 

It had been stupid of Jim to try to stop him from doing what was so deeply ingrained in his nature.

 

Ross gave Jim a thoughtful look, as if trying to see whether Jim was just humoring him, then, apparently satisfied, he nodded and lead them back around the outside to the front of the house. The rain had picked up steadily, going from dripping to heavy in the span of a minute.

 

Jim was just about to cross the threshold when he remembered his phone, still sitting in his car like a neglected passenger.

 

“Hang on, I’m going to grab my phone from the car,” he told Ross and then wheeled around and dashed up the garden path, this time remembering to open the gate before he could crash into it again.

 

“It’s about to storm at any moment!” Ross called after him. But Jim was already by the Nissan’s side, cool gusts of wind whizzing past his ears and tossing his hair. He opened the car door without any more injuries and grabbed the abandoned device.

 

He raced back, Ross tracking his progress from the inside of Nampara’s hallway as he held the door open for him. He had just cleared the stone fence when the sky opened up with an ominous whoosh and spilled what seemed like half its contents down in a matter of seconds.

 

“Shit!” Jim swore as he hunched over and sprinted the last few meters, nearly leaping the last few steps to get out of the deluge. The back of his shirt was soaked by the time he got under Nampara’s roof.

 

Ross shut the door behind him and appraised his antics with a raised eyebrow.

 

Jim smirked. “Almost made it.”

 

“Almost,” Ross agreed gruffly, scanning the state of Jim’s shirt. “Need a new shirt?”

 

Jim hesitated, distracted by a drop of water running down his neck and between his shoulder blades. Other drops trickled down his forehead and he wiped them off with an equally wet forearm. “Nah… I mean-“

 

He didn’t know quite what to answer to Ross’ immediate offer, but Ross didn’t even wait for him to finish.

 

“Hang on,” he said. “I’ll grab you something.” He headed up the stairs with that same single-minded purpose that brooked no arguments and Jim watched him go with trepidation, noting that Ross definitely limped there on step number five. Then he disappeared from view upstairs, though Jim could still hear his every step echo through the ceiling

 

Biting his lip with a frown, he checked the rescued phone to see how dead or alive it was. It came to life in his hand, the battery was hanging tooth and nail at a whopping two percent. There were two missed calls: one from Flint and one from Jim’s Aikido friend Ben Gunn. There were also three new messages and all of them seemed to have come from Verity.

 

8:59 am: “ _I hope you made it to Cornwall alright and kicked some sense into Ross – V._ ”

 

10:40 am: “ _Jim? Please LMK if you made it. A bit worried here!_ ”

 

And then the third and final one, just twenty minutes ago:

 

5:01 pm: “ _Okay, at this point I’m thinking that you either A) got stuck in a ditch somewhere, B) strangled my cousin, or C) you are currently shagging him. I hope it's C but knowing Ross, B is also very likely, so please put me out of my misery asap!!”_

 

Jim snorted at the escalation of worry and wit. The battery icon blinked a warning at him so he speed-typed a reply, fingers racing across screen: “ _Made it, sorry, somehow I’m still at Namp. Fill you in later, phone is dead... No strangling/shagging, just talking rn_.”

 

He hit send just before the screen flickered and went black. With no idea whether the text went through or no, he wiped off a stray droplet that had plopped from his hair onto the glass and looked up to see Ross descending down the stairs once more, a white shirt slung over his shoulder. He handed it to Jim and said, nodding to the phone: “Everything good?”

 

Jim left out Verity’s missives and showed Ross the black screen. “It’s dead, as I thought.” He took the shirt from Ross, suffering another minor bout of hesitation as he pondered whether to change on the spot in front of Ross or retreat into the parlor to do it. The first option seemed a bit unsuitable, though it’d be fun to see whether Ross would get flustered at all at the display of semi-nudity; the second option was just ridiculous.

 

“I’ve still got the same phone as you,” Ross remarked, unaware of Jim’s dilemma. “I can throw it on the charger for you.”

 

Jim handed the device over with thanks and Ross retreated through the door to the right. Feeling decidedly dumb, Jim rushed to pull the wet shirt off and threw on the one Ross gave him, relieved that he managed the exchange before Ross came back.

 

Then he took a breath and the scent emanating from the shirt hit his nose, the sense of relief dissipating. Suddenly Jim was wrapped in so many fragrances that were so like Ross, it was as if he was pressed against the man and inhaling right next to his skin. The bottom of Jim’s stomach fell through and he closed his eyes, swallowing hard as memories assailed him again.

 

Shit, this wasn’t getting any easier.

 

Ross marched right back from the adjacent room, blissfully unaware, and was just about to open his mouth when his own phone’s ringtone erupted somewhere in the vicinity of his hips. Intent on giving Ross space to talk to whoever was calling, Jim motioned for the parlor and went in to hang the shirt over the back of a chair to let it dry.

 

Behind his back, the ringtone cycled through two more times; then the sound abruptly ended. No one spoke though and when Jim turned to walked back, Ross was pushing the phone back into his jeans’ pocket and failed to meet Jim’s eye.

 

“So, you still want to see the rest of the house?” he said, clearing his throat.

 

“Yeah, but if someone needed to talk to you, I can wait-“

 

“No, that’s fine,” Ross said quickly, a muscle on his jaw jumping. “That was nothing. So – should we start upstairs?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

An hour later Jim knew more about Nampara, it’s old walls, quirks, and past occupants more than he’d ever dreamed there was to know.  Ross’ enthusiasm hadn’t diminished as the time went by and neither did the storm’s: the rush of the rain outside colored the background of the tour with its steady drumming onto the roof and windows.

 

By the time they ended up downstairs in the dining room, dusk was descending along with the rain, covering what was left of the view outside in a shroud of deepening grey. Jim fidgeted with the back of a chair which was parked at an impressive old table in the middle of the room: Ross blazed with pride when Jim asked about it and explained how he scored it when one local farm sold off old furniture during an estate sale. Ross leaned against the massive piece in question, looking casual and relaxed; he even laughed that intoxicating laugh of his at one point when he said he almost had to take Nampara apart to get this table inside.

 

Jim ran his fingers over the table’s smooth surface, joining in with a laugh of his own. “If anyone could accomplish it, it’d be you...”

 

He trailed off, staring across the spacious room; the lamp Ross had turned on was casting a soft glow over the interspersed furniture and pockets of Ross-induced chaos: an armchair filled with heaps of some kind of tarp, boxes stacked high by the far wall, a forgotten sweater on the windowsill. Longing filled Jim, suddenly, to be a part of this chaos, to be a part of Ross’ effort.

 

Ross’ life.

 

He blinked and looked up. Ross was watching him, the lamp’s light reflecting in his eyes making them resemble two yellow flickering flames. They held each other’s gaze for a little longer than was strictly necessary, and then Ross pushed off from table.

 

“So, uh, I’m going to grab a drink, can I get you anything?” he asked. He seemed fidgety all of a sudden, as if realizing that the tour was over and they were back to square one.

 

“Yeah, sure,” Jim said, teasing a crack in the chair’s wood with his nail. “Though I should get going, finally. I promised I’d get out of your hair…”

 

He found himself strangely reluctant, again; the last two hours of have been painfully nice and though getting out of here had been Jim’s chief objective earlier, now he had no desire to go out into the rain again and back out of Ross’ front garden. Things felt unfinished between them, open and waiting, as if the wounds they’d dealt each other lay resting after getting debrided and cleaned.

 

Ross frowned slightly at Jim’s words. “The rain’s still pretty awful, it’s probably best if you wait till it subsides… I have plenty of stew left for dinner if you’re interested.”  


Jim took a quick look outside; it was completely dark now. The rain had receded a smidge but then the wind leaned into the windows of Nampara once more and the hammering of raindrops intensified. Was the weather trying to give Jim a hint?

 

“Okay, sure,” he said. “Do you want help in the kitchen?”

 

“Nah, I got it,” Ross waved a nonchalant hand, looking relieved to have something to do once more – or that Jim was staying a bit longer? - as he strode towards the hallway. “I’ll be right back.”

 

He was barely over the threshold when his phone rang again. Jim waited for the sound of Ross’ voice, but it didn’t come; instead, after the third ring, the sound was cut off like last time.

 

 _That’s odd_ … Jim pulled up the chair he’d been picking at and sat down, chewing on his lip. And what was it he was still doing here?

 

Clatter of pots and dishes came from the kitchen and if Jim closed his eyes, the whole scene had an almost domestic feel to it: Ross fixing them an evening meal, Jim having just come home from work…

 

He rubbed his forehead. Just mere hours ago, he’d been shouting at Ross, determined to drive off in total despair. Now he was imagining this was a typical dinner routine? _Seriously_ , Jim, he admonished himself. _You’re deranged_ …

 

He noticed a picture frame that was lying face down in the middle of the table. He turned it over and found that it held a drawing of a mine called Wheal Grace, the name written out in an old-fashioned curly script along the top. He bent to study it: he could make out the individual shafts that ran down vertically from the surface where tiny engine houses presided. There was a long diagonal shaft branching out towards one side, slim horizontal lines linking it to the others; markings of depth and descriptions of lodes dotted the schematic.

 

“I found that in one of the cabinets in the attic, so I figured I’d put it on display,” Ross spoke, startling Jim from his study as he thudded back into the room and set a plate of stew in front of Jim.

 

“Is that one of the mines your family owned?” Jim asked. The aroma of sage and onions hit his nose and his stomach announced its approval.

 

Ross set his own food down across from Jim and rescued two beer bottles from the precarious hold under his elbow, handing one over. “Yeah, Wheal Grace. Had a pretty good run, from what I understand. Copper, mostly, but it’s empty now.”

 

“Are the shafts still there?” Jim picked up his spoon and scooped out what looked like a potato, tasting it. It was soft and the sauce rather delicious.

 

“Yeah, everything’s still there – though some shafts have likely flooded or fallen in, and no one’s been inside for decades, I s’pose.” He loaded his spoon too, chewing on a piece of meat and gesturing towards the map. “The ladders and support beams are likely pretty frail. It’d be a hazard to go in. But the engine house is still there, on the way to Hendrawna beach. It’s gotten pretty weather beaten, though.”

 

As if stressing his point, the wind outside wheezed and howled, sending a fresh spray of rain against the walls.

 

“I think we saw a glimpse of it, last year on one of the visits,” Jim said. Alluding to last year still felt like a tricky territory, but it was Jim’s only point of reference to Nampara. “It’s pretty amazing it has survived that long.”

 

“Yeah,” Ross agreed. “If I had more money – or any money, really – I’d fix it up too, but…”

 

Jim smiled at Ross’ all-encompassing desire to repair _everything_ and leaned over his food. “That’s great food, by the way,” he said. “Is that sage I’m tasting?”

 

“Yeah. It didn’t turn out too bad.” Ross looked slightly embarrassed at the praise. “So, how’s your work going? Flint still driving everyone into the ground there?”  


“Of course he is, and he’s enjoying it, too,” Jim snorted. “We’ve got a new surgeon, Silver, and he can be real bitch to the OR nurses, I’m lucky I’m staying where I am.”  


As soon as he said it, he realized how that sounded. He flushed, backtracking. “In the prep and recovery, I mean. It’s been okay, even if Flint is determined to work us like pack mules day in and day out.”

 

Ross smiled in sympathy. “I s’pose that hasn’t changed.”

 

“Not really, no.”

 

It seemed the topic was exhausted, and then just as Jim swallowed another mouthful, leaning over the plate for more, Ross added surreptitiously: “Truro’s opening a new hospital in the fall.”  


Jim lifted his head, eyebrows shooting up before he could rein them in.

 

Ross seemed to be surprised at his own statement as well. “I mean,” he stammered, “I only know because my friend Dwight is moving down to work there… He’s a surgeon too.”

 

Jim remembered mentions of Dwight from Ross’ university memories; he had always sounded like a decent and smart guy. Truro sounded maybe a bit too provincial for a talented doctor, but then…

 

“Why here?” he asked. “Your friend I mean.”

 

“He says he needed to get out of where he was and this was a new option... He was up north for a few years, but he wants a change of scenery, help where people don’t always have access to the best care.”

 

“Oh.” Jim decided that focusing on Dwight’s apparent reasons were better than wondering whether there was another reason why Ross had decided to share about the imminent hospital opening. “Does he specialize in anything?”

 

“He works mostly with cancer patients,” Ross said, shrugging. “Lung cancer, I think. But he does other kinds of surgery too.”

 

“Sounds like they’ll be lucky to have him,” Jim said. And then, to lighten to mood: “I hope you’re not planning on keeping the new hospital busy, with your string of accidents…”

 

Ross laughed. “I’m not planning on it. Though the other day…”

 

He recounted another hair-raising near-miss with a wooden beam in the attic, which left Jim with a feeling he was lucky to have found Ross alive at all this morning.

 

They finished dinner over Ross’ report of other minor injuries he’d sustained and then Jim helped with dishes. Ross pulled out another couple of beers and the second round turned into a third and fourth as they sat back at the great table, talk meandering from Ross’ mishaps to Jim’s patients and martial arts.

 

The rain outside had petered out to a gentler patter, though the wind still occasionally raised alarm. Water dripped from the overflowing gutters, a steady plop, plop right outside the dark windows that glistened from the thorough wash they’d gotten. The room was bathed in the lamp’s soft glow and when Jim next thought to check the time, there was only one hour left till midnight.

 

“Oh shit, it’s gotten late,” Ross proclaimed. “I suppose you might have to leave the driving for next morning?”

 

“I can’t quite stay the night -“ Jim objected, but Ross cut him off.

 

“What, you’re going to pull another all-nighter? That’s ridiculous. Besides, you’ve been drinking,” Ross pointed out. “I can take the couch and you can have my bed.”

 

“I can sleep in the car,” Jim said feebly. “The rain’s almost stopped, I can just get on the road in the morning. I didn’t plan on taking up your whole afternoon and evening. I don’t need to take up your morning too.”

 

Ross glowered. “Like hell I’m going to let you sleep in the car.”

 

“Then I’m taking the couch.”

 

Ross huffed, and there was that familiar sense of him getting ready to dig in his heels like a bull ready to charge, but then he relented. “Fine.” Then he stood up and headed for the kitchen. “Might as well finish the last two beers then. You’re game?”

 

This was becoming quite surreal.

 

“Yeah," Jim said, unable to fight it. "I’m game.”

 

 

 

 

They drained the last pair of beers, talking of more repairs Ross planned, but the atmosphere in the room had become tenser now. Spending the night had not been Jim’s plan – not that he’d had more of a plan formed besides driving down here and telling Ross his mind very loudly. He’d accomplished that, but he was completely unprepared for what had followed.

 

Jim got up when the bottle was empty. It was past midnight and he was tired, his eyes starting to fall and his chin propped up by his arm as his head got steadily heavier. He was deeply in sleep deficit from the night before and not even the idea of spending another few minutes in Ross’ company without shouting and pain wasn’t enough to keep his brain awake. At one point he had to shake himself after dozing off and he caught Ross staring at him from across the table with that puppy look he got sometimes, the one that made him look innocent and too fucking adorable, and… Heck, whatever was in his eyes, it looked like longing, and Jim wasn’t sure he could deal with that right now.

 

But after they said good night, Ross procuring a proper pillow from upstairs and a spare blanket in case it got chilly, Jim lay there with a heart to full of contradictions to fall asleep right away. Ross had retreated upstairs and even his footsteps up above Jim had ceased, the silence that spread over the house only punctuated by the lingering showers of rain outside.

 

Jim pressed his eyes closed, not sure what to make of this day and not sure he wanted to analyze it anyway. There was cautious optimism burgeoning somewhere deep inside but it didn’t come with any instructions on how to proceed, or if that was even advisable. Ross had hinted, yes, but…

 

Jim burrowed deeper into the blanket he’d slept under earlier, part of him wishing to hear Ross’ steps echo through the house again, for Ross to come down here and say something that would bridge this gap between them. He longed for Ross’ touch, not for the sake of tending to an injury but to soothe and comfort and entice.

 

Did Ross want that?

 

He looked, at the more unguarded moments, as if he did.

 

But as Jim lay there, listening to the old house’s creaks and groans, he couldn’t forget one important fact: no matter what was said, no matter what looks they exchanged, Ross still very much had a fiancée.

 

 

 

 

 

Bright light streamed into the room when Jim opened his eyes, something jolting him out of sleep. He shot up to sitting, mind catching up to his body’s signals that he was somewhere unfamiliar. He blinked and then he remembered.

 

Oh, yes. Cornwall. Nampara. Storm.

 

Ross.

 

It was now Sunday morning, god only knew what time. The storm seemed completely cleared away, judging by the unimpeded sunlight bursting through the window. The smell of hot breakfast permeated the air, waking him further.

 

“Jim??”

 

He nearly fell off the couch at the sound of his own name, shouted through the parlor’s door. He rubbed his eyes and threw the blanket off, reaching for his shoes. Had Ross called out to him seconds ago as well? Maybe that was why he’d woken up so abruptly.

 

“Yeah?” he called. “Whas’ the time?”

 

Ross sounded amused. “Eleven thirty.”

 

“What?” Jim shoved his feet into his boots and was on the other side of the room as if he had lightning chasing him. He tore open the door to reveal a sheepish and amused Ross standing behind it. “Eleven thirty?!”  


“Yeah,” Ross said. “I hate to wake you but I wanted to make sure you were okay…”  


“I’m fine,” Jim stated, brain slightly befuddled at the fact that he’d not woken up earlier as usual. “I must have been more tired than I thought…”

 

“Yeah,” Ross agreed. “I made breakfast, but if you want to shower first, it can wait.”

 

“Yeah, okay,” Jim said.

 

“I threw a new shirt in the bathroom for you,” Ross informed him. “But I’m afraid I only have one toothbrush.”

 

Jim smiled. “I’ll make do,” he assured him. “Thanks.”

 

It was hard to walk away from the smell of eggs and sausage and coffee – and Ross - but the offer of shower was likewise enticing and it was good to get it out of the way. Ross still knew him, dammit – Jim cursed as he pounded up the stairs to Ross’ bathroom. Stripping down, he found Ross’ wet hair still stuck to the inside shower curtain and sighed.

 

It was not going to be easy to say goodbye to Ross, and yet, Jim couldn’t possibly justify staying any longer, even with these unofficial, semi-friendly terms they seemed to be operating on.

 

He made quick work of washing, throwing on what looked like a brand new shirt and his own now well-worn jeans. Heading back downstairs, he found Ross standing in the dining room, frowning at his ringing phone and yet again failing to answer it.

 

Was it Verity? Or Elizabeth? Jim wondered what the hell was going on and thought he should check his own, now probably charged phone, but then Ross pointed him to where two plates sat on the table along with cups of coffee and orange juice.

 

“You hadn’t eaten yet?” Jim said as they took the same places as the night before.

 

“No,” Ross admitted. “I only woke up an hour before you and I wanted to let you sleep…”

 

Jim stabbed a sausage with his fork. “Well, thanks. For that. And for feeding me again.” He noticed that the door leading to the back patio was thrown open, filling the room with the scent of fresh ozone.

 

“It’s no trouble,” Ross said, shoveling a large bit of egg into his mouth. “I owe you at least that after…”

 

“You don’t owe me anything, Ross,” Jim said quietly. “And I’ve kept you too long, which was not what I intended… I’m going to help you clean up after breakfast and then head home.”

 

Ross gave him a measured glance. “You got work tomorrow?”

 

“Yeah,” he said. “Back to it, bright and early.”

 

“You were always an early bird,” Ross remarked, looking back down at his plate. “Even after a night out or a…”

 

He didn’t finish. Instead, a faint flush rose onto his cheekbones.

 

Jim gulped down a mouthful of food that was only half chewed up. “I was not up so early today,” he pointed out.

 

Ross smiled. “No, I guess not.”

 

They ate in silence, Ross getting up once to refill their coffee cups and then to take the plates away. When Jim made to go with him to lend a hand as promised, Ross waved him off. “I’m just going to soak them first,” he stated, voice gruff, before marching from the room in surprising haste.

 

Jim frowned and took a deep breath. What now? It wasn’t that he wanted to leave, but he couldn’t possibly prolong the inevitable anymore. And Ross seemed more distant, more guarded, this morning; it troubled Jim.

 

Frustrated, he grabbed his refilled mug, taking a sip and trying to get past the indecision, growing restless with it. Steaming mug in hand, he walked over to the door that lead to the back garden and stopped on the threshold. The air smelled amazing: rain-cleaned grass and sun and salt and soil; it was doing something powerful to Jim’s body and he took in long slow breaths. He closed his eyes, leaning against the door frame’s old, rugged wood.

 

Ross’ steps sounded behind him and Jim’s eyes flew open. He turned just in time to see him wiping his wet hands on his jeans, his expression an odd mix of trepidation and determination that released a small flock of butterflies from underneath Jim’s navel. They swirled up and filled his chest; he gave Ross a quick smile and then turned back to the view, the butterflies multiplying despite his attempt to suppress them.

 

“This really is not a bad sight to wake up to every day,” he said, in order to mask the sudden case of nerves. “The air smells unbelievable.”

 

“It’s –“ Ross started, “it’s because - the storm. But it’s pretty nice on any given day.”

 

Jim tracked Ross’ approach across the room, his breathing speeding up. The hand in which he clutched the coffee mug trembled; he took a sip of the coffee which was hot and perfect and not nearly as calming as he’d hoped.

 

“Yeah. It has to be.”  He took a deep breath to steady himself and then, without planning on it, continued. “I didn’t do this place justice, before. I’m sorry I was such a stubborn bastard about it. I can’t imagine how you – or anyone – could possibly _not_ want to live here. It’s… amazing.”

 

He wouldn’t turn around, though Ross now had to be just steps behind him. The floor shifted again, a board creaked, and Ross’ voice came from a mere foot away.

 

“Anyone?” Ross said, his voice quiet, low. “Does that mean - Could _you_ imagine -?“

 

“Living here?” Jim turned to him now, heart in his throat.

 

Ross nodded, eyes boring into Jim’s.

 

The hopeful glint in them made Jim’s breath catch.

 

“I think – yes.“ He bit his lip, looked down. “I think maybe I could.”

 

He felt ashamed now. Where had this been a year ago, this ability to see the Nampara for what it really could be? Why had that realization come now, when it was too late? And yet, Ross was asking him, as if-

 

Ross’ voice rasped over his words. “You could?”

 

Jim glanced up again, and his fingers around the coffee were horribly unsteady now. Ross was so close Jim could detect the freckles on the slopes of his nose, the tiny scar in his right eyebrow, the little grooves in the skin of his lips.

 

Not trusting his voice, he nodded.

 

Ross stared at him now with almost unbearable intensity. He shifted his weight, which brought him imperceptibly closer. “If that’s true, then I sort of want to - ask you - something.”

 

Jim’s nerves were nearly suffocating him. 

 

“So ask,” he breathed.

 

“It might get me punched, after all this time,” Ross cracked a tiny, jerky smile and it was irresistible, god dammit. The butterflies filled every crevice of Jim’s chest with frightful anticipation.

 

He tightened his hold on the coffee, which by a sheer miracle hadn’t spilled yet. Though now the mug was in danger of being crushed instead.

 

His mouth was dry, but he managed what he hoped was a steady, reassuring reply. “If I haven’t punched you yet I probably won’t do it now.”

 

Ross’ lips twitched up again. “I think it’s worth the risk.” His eyes drilled into Jim’s; then the smile was gone and he was leaning in.

 

Jim’s breath hitched in his throat. He had half a second's time to plant his free hand on Ross’ chest before Ross’ mouth was right next to his, hot and satin-looking and beguiling.

 

Impossibly, Ross stopped there, a millimeter from making contact. Jim stared into his blurred amber eyes and then pure instinct and want took over.

 

He covered the last fraction of distance, unable to wait anymore.

 

Their lips touched.

 

Jim froze and the butterflies inside him went mad.

 

Ross’ reaction was explosive: it was as if the touch had obliterated whatever final doubt he’d harbored. He moved in full-body, crowding Jim against the door frame and kissing him bruisingly hard. Jim fought for breath even as he raised his chin to make up for Ross’ familiar height advantage, his hand on Ross’ shirt grabbing a fistful of fabric and pulling. Ross made a noise in the back of his throat and then his hands were moving too, one taking hold of Jim’s waist and the other appearing on Jim’s shoulder, sliding up and to the side of Jim’s neck.

 

Jim’s pulse skyrocketed; he shivered under the calloused touch of Ross’ fingers, vaguely aware that the coffee had finally spilled all over his hand. He did his best to at least keep it at an arm’s length but Ross was all he could really focus on: the way his nose was squished against Jim’s cheek, the way he could feel Ross’ chest heave next his, the way Ross pushed Jim’s mouth open with his tongue and made Jim whine as he allowed it.

 

It was heaven; pure absolute heaven.

 

The touch of Ross’ tongue was shallow and light at first but then he went deeper, his breathing becoming more labored. Jim cursed the coffee mug in his hand because all he wanted to do was shove that hand in Ross’ hair and hold him down so he’d never stop.

 

Ross tasted like breakfast and morning and _home._ Jim felt a ferocious need rise in him and he kissed Ross harder until their teeth clashed and Ross shuddered and moaned like a desperate man. He gripped Jim tighter for it, pressing even closer; the strength lurking beneath the surface went through Jim like a burning meteor and he licked into Ross’ mouth, wanting more helpless moans, more shudders, more Ross…

 

He figured Ross would forgive him a broken mug and spilled coffee, because fuck, Jim needed to get his other hand on him.

 

But before he could manage that, loud rapping on the front door echoed through the house.

 

Ross sprang back as if burnt and they threw a pair of wild looks towards the noise. Seconds passed. The knocking sounded again, louder this time.

 

“Who’s -“ Jim started, his heart galloping and lips achy and bruised from the kiss.

 

“Ross!” A woman’s voice called, tone urgent. “Ross, open the door, I know you’re home!”

 

Ross’ eyes grew huge. He swallowed and his arms, still suspended in midair from where he’d held on to Jim, fell limply down to his sides.

 

“Shit, it’s Elizabeth.” He spoke quietly, his face a picture of regret when he looked back at Jim. “I knew she might show up… I sort of let it slip yesterday that you came down.”

 

“Ross, you’ve been ignoring my calls!” Elizabeth banged on the door again. “Come to the door, Ross, or I swear-“

 

“So that’s been her calling?” Jim said and Ross nodded.

 

“I… Shit. I guess I better go sort it out.”

 

The flock of happy butterflies had dissolved without a trace; Jim’s soaring emotions crashed as he nodded back. Ross turned on his heel and headed for the hallway without another word, but he chanced one more look at Jim before closing the door, his eyebrows drawn into a troubled frown and his mouth tight. But he sent out something like a silent plea as their eyes met; as if begging Jim to stay.

  

Then he disappeared.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here's the final chapter of this little adventure that has grown well out of intended proportions :D 
> 
> Thank you all for supporting this story and sorry about the massive gap between the previous chapter and this one - I hope you enjoy the ending <3

The front doors of Nampara slammed shut behind Ross, and the resounding thud hit Jim like a fist to the stomach.

The house fell silent, but Jim’s heart went on hammering hard and fast in his chest. Instead of the earlier sense of anticipation and thrill, though, the air now seemed filled with nothing but tension and apprehension.

The taste of Ross’ mouth, the desperate press of it against Jim’s lips and the hungry swipes of his tongue lingered, but with the kiss ending so abruptly, Jim was left standing there wondering if he’d just imagined it. He glanced down and saw that there was still a mug imprisoned in his clenched fingers, surprisingly intact even if its contents weren’t. The spilled coffee felt cool and damp on the skin of Jim’s hand and on the floor, a small beige puddle had formed where it had splattered onto the worn wooden boards.

Jim stared at the evidence and the evidence stared right back, confirming what Jim had a hard time believing now that he was left here on his own.

The kiss had been real alright.

And it had felt amazing.

 

 

Butterflies returned cautiously to Jim’s midsection as he recalled the ferocity of Ross’ response once their lips had actually made contact. His own screaming need to bring Ross closer and not let him go this time. The urge to get under Ross’ skin, to have moments like this again…

Could they manage that? Now that Jim stood here, frozen to the floor and at the mercy of whatever was going on outside between Ross and Elizabeth, he knew he didn’t want this kiss to be the swan song of their relationship. A flare of passion allowed to fizzle out, a memory of a glorious past, rekindled only to be squashed by Ross’ perceived obligations towards his former lover…

Jim’s anxiety soared, blood pumping fast and whooshing in his ears even as he strained to catch the sound of voices from outside. He couldn’t hear anything though; either Ross and Elizabeth had moved off towards the other side of the house or they were speaking so quietly Jim couldn’t pick up on it. He thought briefly of creeping closer to the window to see if he could figure out where they stood, but then he squashed the plan. Spying was not his style.

Neither was standing still, though this time, it was harder to move than ever, to leave the spot where he and Ross had just reconnected so gloriously, so promisingly. It felt as if by leaving this space, Jim might break the spell which had allowed them to act on what they really wanted.

Would they be able to get to that same headspace again? Or had it already been erased by that knock on the door and Elizabeth’s insistent shouts?

When Jim finally jerked into motion, it was with a sense of both inevitability and reluctance. Lips clamped tightly, he crossed over to the table and set the mug down, looking for something to wipe his hand on. There was nothing, though, no napkins or rags or dish towels, so he made do with his jeans; they were far gone anyway after he’d lived in them for last two days.

He glanced back towards the door that opened out to the back terrace. The spilled coffee on the floor was still next to it, nagging at him to clean it and reminding him why it was there. Jim bit his lip hard and pulled up a chair, determined to ignore it and resigning himself to waiting once more.

 

 

He wasn’t sure how long he was sitting there when suddenly noises wafted in from outside: raised voices, heated words. Jim’s head shot up from where he’d been resting it on his knee: Ross and Elizabeth must have drifted closer because he could not only hear them but also distinguish who was speaking, though he still had no idea what was being said.

The higher voice – Elizabeth’s – seemed to be getting worked up over something, and Ross’s deeper tones were tinged with frustration as well. Jim was filled with the sudden desire to dash to the window and try to catch a glimpse of them and perhaps decipher what they were saying, but the idea of Elizabeth spotting him through the glass was too distasteful.

The argument went on for another anxious moment, and Jim’s imagination was running wild, trying to picture what might be going on. Then Elizabeth shouted something and her exclamation was followed by abrupt noise that made Jim startle.

It sounded very much like a slap.

Jim couldn’t stand it anymore; he leapt up and darted over to the window like a stealthy cat, but the only thing he could see once he made it there was Elizabeth’s back as she marched off like a spurned queen back to her parked Citroen. He couldn’t see Ross, which meant that he was standing too close to Nampara’s door to be visible from this angle.

Jim’s thoughts went into overdrive. What the hell were these two saying to each other? And who’d delivered the blow? He suspected that it had been Elizabeth: Ross was highly unlikely to smack anyone and least of all a woman; besides, if Elizabeth had been the one on the receiving end, Jim was sure she’d be raising seven kinds of hell right now and likely calling the police as well.

Which left him with a burning question: what could Ross have said to get such a reaction from Elizabeth?

 

 

There was no time to ponder the answer. The front door of Nampara clicked and creaked, footsteps echoing in the hallway. The sounds effectively ended Jim’s speculations, startling him into action: he pulled out the nearest chair and slid into it, reaching across the wide table for his coffee mug. He grabbed it seconds before Ross opened the parlor door; the liquid threatened to slosh out again even as Jim did his best to feign a well-established seated position and a casual sip on his lukewarm drink. He probably wouldn’t have fooled Ross on a regular day, but today was not anything of the sort.

Ross hesitated on the parlor’s threshold, his eyes immediately going to where he had left Jim earlier, when their kiss had been so abruptly brought to an end. But all that remained there was the coffee stain on the floor and when Ross realized that Jim was no longer there, he cast a distracted gaze around the room, looking worried for a second before spotting Jim at the table. Their eyes met and Ross’ shoulders relaxed a smidge. Then he looked away from Jim again, a carefully impassive expression on his face.

A red mark right above the line of Ross’ third-day stubble caught Jim’s attention, but before he could zoom in on it, Ross turned and walked over to the window without a word. He paused there, jaw tight and lips clasped together; he looked closed off and unsettled, even angry with himself. Jim was gripped with a rising terror that the conversation outside had gone badly, that the result was not what Jim had hoped and wished it’d be. Maybe Ross had not been able to find it in himself to disappoint Elizabeth again. Maybe he’d ask Jim for more time, maybe the kiss had not meant what Jim had thought it meant-

He was suddenly terrified of what Ross would say. The stubborn hope inside him, which he hadn’t even realized had been there all year and which had just been fanned back to a small but determined flame, was sputtering and hissing, unwilling to die down yet unsure it could keep on going.

Ross, however, didn’t seem capable of speaking at all. Reaching spontaneous combustion levels of anxiety, Jim had no choice but to steel himself and ask.

“Ross? You okay?”

Ross’ shoulders stiffened but he didn’t turn around.

Jim ground his teeth and forced himself to go on. “What did Elizabeth want?“

Ross chewed on his lip, still staring outside. “She was upset,” he said finally.

“About what?” Jim pressed, unable to stop now that he’d started. “About me being here?”

“Yeah. And about her calls getting ignored.” Ross paused. “She was convinced it meant that things have happened between us – between you and I.”

Jim knew exactly what ‘things’ implied and couldn’t blame Elizabeth for arriving to that conclusion. Ross’ ex staying overnight at his house – she could hardly like that idea. And although what she suspected wasn’t correct to the full extent, he and Ross _had_ kissed, just before she’d announced her presence so loudly.

Jim swallowed, his eyes fixed on Ross. But the brunet wasn’t giving him any clues at all, except for looking extremely unapproachable right now.

“What did you tell her?” Jim had to fight through another bout of anxiety to get the words out evenly. Part of him couldn’t help but think that maybe Elizabeth’s supposition could come in handy: maybe Ross should let Elizabeth think she’d gotten it right…

But there was still Ross’ irrepressible noble character to account for, and Jim couldn’t forget that; Ross’ sense of honesty and moral obligation would not allow him to lie to her or cast a bad light on Jim.

Ross sighed, pushing aside a strand of hair that didn’t feel like falling in line with its mates and insisted on invading his face.

“I told her the truth,” he admitted in the end, and he sounded miserable. “I told her we kissed. That - that _I_ kissed you.”

Jim inhaled sharply, the oxygen cutting through him like a knife. God, that couldn’t have been easy for Ross, though at least now it was out in the open and that was some relief. But what it meant for the two of them, for all involved -  

Jim waited, but Ross didn’t seem ready to supply anything else.

“How did she react?” Jim ventured into the tense silence that surrounded them, separated them.

Ross shrugged, his back as stiff as if he’d swallowed a ruler. “She was angry. She didn’t believe me that nothing else had happened… And she was furious that I hadn’t left all those ‘bad tendencies’ behind.”

Ross gave a cheerless laugh and the self-loathing in it grated at Jim’s heart. Ross grimaced. “I suppose I’ve gotten very fucking good at letting people down recently…”

Jim’s heart sank at the sight of Ross’ look of guilt. He had an inkling that most of all Ross felt he’d let himself down as well. If this had been the point in the conversation when the slap from Elizabeth had arrived, Ross might have even welcomed it, think it deserved.

Jim’s insides were roiling at the thought. Ross had been trying to do his best for Elizabeth; he most certainly did not deserve to be hit. In fact, he had promised Elizabeth far more than she could ever have hoped for, than _she_ deserved. He’d gone about it the wrong way, but he’d been trying to help her and her son, make their lives easier -

Protectiveness flared up in him, adding to the already volatile mix stirring in his chest. He was starting to feel like a pressure cooker that’s been left on for too long, its contents growing increasingly unstable as the steam built up inside. And he wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep up this strange, stunted interrogation before his lid blew off and he’d explode, or beg Ross to tell him what this all meant, tell him _something_.

 _Anything_.

He couldn’t press Ross, though. The man looked like he’d just been slammed with the depth of his own mistakes all over again and Jim couldn’t do that to him. Heart constrained, he let the silence persist. Tension seemed to envelope them both, threatening to suck all air out of the room.

Ross cleared his throat and rubbed the side of his neck, squinting up into the sunrays that streamed in through the window and illuminated his face. Then he took a deep breath and turned to Jim.

For the first time since he’d returned into the parlor, he didn’t avoid Jim’s gaze. Jim stared right back, barely breathing; Ross looked unsure but determined, his features strained as he bit into his bottom lip and drew it into his mouth. He seemed to be gathering himself, scraping his courage together, and everything inside Jim stopped as he waited for what would come next.

Ross released the tortured lip. “I told her I can’t marry her,” he said. “So I guess that means that the engagement is off.”

 

 

The words registered in Jim’s brain, but for a moment, all he could do was stare, wide-eyed, at the conflicted man in front of him.

Then the implications of the announcement started penetrating and suddenly Jim felt dizzy and faint just thinking about it, his mind in turmoil. Breathe, he had to remind himself, fucking breathe, it’d be a stupid time now to drop unconscious to the ground.

 _But Jesus_ _Christ_ _on_ _a_ _Harley, Ross_ …

He closed his eyes to regain some semblance of control and when he opened them again, Ross’ hazel ones were soft and boring into his. Before Jim could collect himself and react in some way, any way, Ross spoke again, his voice barely audible this time.

“I’m – I’m glad it’s over, really. You were right - the idea of me marrying her was stupid, the reasons were stupid, and I’m afraid it took seeing you to realize it.”

He sounded bitter, and as his head dropped and he looked down, it was finally too much for Jim to bear. He pushed away from the table and stood up, covering the distance that separated them in five long strides.

“I wish I’d come sooner, then,” he said quietly, unable to keep emotion from his voice. “If that’s what it took.”

He reached out to lift Ross’ chin, to make him look up and see the hope in Jim’s eyes, but Ross caught his hand mid-motion. Slim fingers wrapped themselves around Jim’s palm, sending tendrils of electricity up Jim’s arm.

“Listen, I-” Ross struggled to control his voice. “I don’t know if what just happened changes anything between us, I know it doesn’t necessarily, but… If there’s any chance we could fix all the damage we’ve done, if we could try and -“

Jim’s throat filled, the instant lump there making it hard to swallow. The lines of his emotions were surging and crashing all over the place and he had to look down at his hand in Ross’ to bring them back to a safe range. Only when he could reasonably trust himself did he glance up again.

“It does change things, Ross,” he said. “If you’re not going to marry Elizabeth – if you’ve called it off with her-“

“I did. It’s over.” Ross’ hold on Jim’s fingers tightened; he seemed afraid that Jim might pull back before everything he needed to say was out. “God, Jim, I could barely sleep last night and I kept going over every part of this horrible mess I’ve made and I nearly went downstairs to talk to you… I was terrified you’d leave in the middle of the night, without a word, which is what I would have completely deserved after how I left. I was so relieved your car was still here in the morning because I couldn’t stand the thought of not seeing you again, of not having the chance to tell you-”

Ross paused, eyes falling shut again as if he was readying himself for a wild leap and couldn’t quite take it while looking.

“To tell you that despite what I’ve done, I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you. And I don’t think I ever will. I’ve tried to ignore it and hide from it for an entire year and it was the worst year of my life, Jim...”

Before he was even finished, Jim threw himself forward, grabbing Ross’ face with both hands.

“Ross, you stupid, stupid man,” he whispered. Tears pushed into the corners of his eyes. “You infuriating, ridiculous man, what am I supposed to do with you?”

It was a rhetorical question. Ross gave a wobbly smile and in the next second, Jim was kissing him for the second time that day, tasting Ross’ swallowed tears on his tongue. Ross kissed right back and fastened his arms around Jim, holding him with desperate strength.

A few glorious moments later, Jim pulled back as far as Ross’ tight grip on him allowed and stared up into the glistening hazel eyes. “I love you too, you know… I guess I forgot to add that after calling you stupid.”

Ross gave a face-splitting grin; the kind that channeled sunshine and that made Jim’s heart dance inside his chest. “You can call me stupid for the rest of my life,” Ross muttered before moving forward again, resting their foreheads together. “God, Jim…”

Jim shoved both hands, blessedly free now, into Ross’ hair and held him right where he wanted him so he could kiss him again. Ross moaned in the back of his throat and opened his mouth to allow the kiss to deepen, spreading possessive palms over the small of Jim’s back.

Jim’s nerves tingled at the touch. He loved when Ross put his hands right there; the first night they’d ever kissed he’d done so and the intimacy of it had nearly sent Jim through the roof with excitement. Now the memory uncoiled deep longing below his navel, making him shudder and press in.

He couldn’t hold back now anyway; not anymore. Acting on pure desire he backed Ross to the wall right next to the window and pushed him against it. Ross whined and poured even more heat into the kiss, licking his way into Jim’s mouth, then spun them around without warning. With a mounting sense of urgency and without interrupting the kiss, he hoisted Jim up until the only choice Jim had was to bring his legs around Ross’ waist and his arms around his neck, holding on as best he could.

He wasn’t complaining though; not in the least. The maneuver brought all sorts of closeness he hadn’t felt in months and his body screamed approval. The wall was hard and uncompromising against Jim’s spine, the surface rough even through the loaned shirt, but Jim hadn’t felt this good in ages. It was as if they were trying to erase the year of separation all at once.

Jim threw his head back as the kiss became dizzying. Ross gave him a half-veiled look that glittered with love and want and started kissing down Jim’s throat, leaving a burning path of wet heat behind as his lips progressed down.

“You taste so good,” Ross rasped, one hand going to Jim’s ass to help steady him while Jim hissed encouragements at him. “Is this okay-“

“God yes,” Jim gritted through clenched teeth. “Don’t fucking stop.”

Ross growled and redoubled his efforts to taste as much of Jim’s skin as he could reach. Jim gave himself over to it, but just as he contemplated how far they could take this without having to transfer somewhere else, Ross’ moan faltered and the next one came out pained. Ross cursed, and that was all the warning Jim got before Ross staggered and the grasp he had on Jim failed.

Jim nearly took too long to react. Then something clicked as Ross reached down towards his leg, still fighting to keep the two of them upright long enough for Jim to regain his footing.

“Shit, your leg?” Jim’s boots hit the ground, hands going to Ross’ forearms to steady them both.

“Spasm,” Ross ground out. “Fucking dammit...”

“Fuck.” Jim sprang into action. He hadn’t been there to help Ross for a year and yet it was like sliding on a pair of well worn, familiar gloves. He guided them both to the floor and Ross yielded with a hiss of pain, panting as he leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. He was holding the troublesome limb with both hands as he looked up at Jim. “Fuck, I’m sorry. You okay?”

Jim fixed him with an incredulous stare. “Me?! For Christ’s sake, Ross.” He knelt down and with practiced motions, never forgotten, felt up and down the affected muscle, pressing when he’d found the tight, convulsing spot. Ross bit into his lip and inhaled sharply through his nose when Jim bent his foot up towards the calf to force the muscle to stretch.

Gradually, the tightness gave and Ross sagged against the wall.

“Better?” Jim asked, eyes not leaving Ross’ face as he waited for the discomfort to ease off. Ross nodded and Jim released the foot and massaged Ross’ calf, smiling inwardly at the strangled noises Ross was making. It was intimacy of a different kind, one he’d missed as well.

“God, I’m so stupid,” Ross grunted. “I shouldn’t have lifted you, I don’t know what I was thinking…”

Jim chuckled. “You _weren’t_ thinking, Ross _._ ”

“Well, I should have been.” Ross huffed, dissatisfied with his life choices once again. He closed his eyes, allowing his head to fall back against the wall. “God, I don’t know anymore, I feel like a complete train wreck…”

Jim shook his head. “If it helps, I think we’ve wrecked this train together.”

“And you really think we can get ourselves back on track?” One hazel eye popped open and watched him.

“Yes.” Jim let go of Ross’ leg and sat down next to him, his shoulder resting against the cool stone of Nampara’s wall. “I think we can. Maybe find a new track, one that goes where we both want to go.” He paused, glancing at Ross carefully. “If you want to try, that is…”

“I do.“ Ross didn’t hesitate this time. “Though I’m not sure how we should do this - I mean, you were against dating long distance, and I can understand that, but I can’t just pick up Nampara and move back to the city.”

Jim smiled at the mental image of that. “No, I guess you can’t. And you shouldn’t have to, in fact… Let’s just say that I might be reconsidering my hard stance on the long-distance thing.”

Ross stared at him with both eyes open now, and the hope in them was completely naked. “You are?”

Jim’s smile turned into a self-deprecating grimace as he nodded. “It’s time I did - I _owe_ you that, Ross. I should have seen how wildly unfair it had been of me to expect you to give up this house… It’s your heritage, and it’s a beautiful place, one of a kind. So, yes. I think we should give long distance a try. For now.”

“For now?” Some of the earlier caution crept back into Ross’ gaze, making the happy light in them dim.

Despite misgivings about thinking too far ahead, Jim ploughed on.

“Well, it’s occurred to me that I probably shouldn’t quit my job on the spot, but…” He cleared his throat. “Maybe that new hospital in Truro will start hiring this summer and I could send my CV in to apply for a few positions?”

Ross went completely still. “You mean… you’d move down here? To Truro - Nampara?”

That was it. Jim’s heart melted, with irrevocable finality, at the sight of Ross’ amazement. He fought hard to keep his voice stable.

“Would that be something you’d want?” he ventured. “But if you’d rather take it slow, I don’t have to move, I can stay put for a while and drive over to see you every weekend or every other one or -”

“No!” Ross reared up and grabbed Jim’s forearms, wild emotion spilling out of him. “I don’t want to take it slow. Fuck, you can move in next week if you want to, or right now, or-”

Jim grinned like a maniac, unable to hide how pleased he was by the reaction. “Maybe not _that_ quick, but… if you want me to, I will.”

“Soon?” Ross breathed.

Jim nodded. “As soon as I can manage.”

 

 

The wooden floor beneath the window was not the most comfortable of places for an extended kiss. But the urgent memo Jim’s body was sending up to inform him of that fact bypassed his brain’s inbox entirely and ended up in the trash bin, unread.

Jim could barely believe this was happening. And yet here he was, Nampara’s old floorboards hard against his knees and Ross’ fingers tucked in the waistband of Jim’s pants in a manner that tried to appear casual but wasn’t. Ross’ lips were pliant and soft against Jim’s, the urgency of the previous kiss temporarily subdued and replaced by luxurious, unhurried indulgence.

This was the last thing Jim thought would follow after the mad all-night drive down to Cornwall. And yet, he couldn’t deny that he hadn’t been hoping for it, somewhere in a hidden cove of his soul where he normally didn’t allow any light to shine.

That the tiny, buried speck of hope would get to bask in the sun at the end of the day – Jim wouldn’t have bet on that at the end of his conversation with Verity. The only objective back then had been to hunt Ross down and make him bear the brunt of Jim’s yearlong hurt. 

To find that not only was Ross sorry, but that he had been living in his own version of hell, that he still cared about Jim… To see things turn around so dramatically -

Jim sighed into the kiss. Though his calves were starting to get an intense case of pins and needles, he ignored the signals and went on teasing Ross’ tongue with his in lavish strokes which made Ross shake beneath him.

He wanted to stay in this moment forever. There were things they’d still have to work through, conversations they’d have to have and changes they’d have to make. But for now, Jim was content with slowly losing feeling in his legs while having a conversation of a completely different sort.

He paused only when he felt Ross shift with a muffled groan.

“You okay?” Jim asked. “Another spasm?”

“No.” A tiny smile curled Ross’ lip. “But I can’t feel my ass anymore.”

Despite the admission, he didn’t seem in a hurry to get up.

“Want me to move?” Jim lifted an eyebrow, one hand continuing to scratch lazily at the back of Ross’ neck.

Ross gave a shudder and shook his head, looking like bliss personified. “Not particularly, no. But I’m afraid if we sit here much longer, I’ll be too stiff to get up.”

Jim snickered. “I could work with that.” But he got to his feet and extended a hand to Ross who took it and let himself be heaved to standing. He tested his leg with a slightly self-conscious expression before glancing at Jim.

“Thanks for the help, earlier. With the leg…“

“Anytime.”

Despite breaching the subject, Ross looked skittish, his evasive tendencies manifesting once more. Jim considered just continuing to snog the man standing up and worrying about this later, but the fact that Ross’ injury was still so difficult to bring up and discuss was like a smudge on the otherwise clean slate of their relationship.

Putting the ongoing need to kiss Ross on the back-burner, Jim inclined his head in an effort to catch his eye.

“Ross, I know it’s hard to talk about your leg, but I need you to try and be a bit more open about it if we want this to really work.” He squeezed Ross’ hand. “I want to help you handle this, but I can’t do that if I don’t know what’s really going on.”

Ross looked up, his mouth twisted into a grimace of self-recrimination. “Yeah, I know I need to talk about it, and I should have, before. I just-”

Jim gave a half-smile, tugging on the hand still imprisoned in his. “Look, we both fucked up. And I know I need to do better too, reach out and talk to you, and not walk all over what you want… I guess all I’m asking is that you keep me in the loop.”

“I will, I promise.” Ross took a deep breath and rubbed his jaw with his free hand, then glanced at Jim, hesitant. “Actually, my next check-up is this Friday, the doctor wants to see me every month to monitor changes, so… I was thinking that maybe if you wanted, I could start scheduling the appointment so that you could sometimes go with me?”

Ross had never, ever offered that before. And though Jim had suggested once or twice that he could accompany Ross to his doctor visits, Ross had always played it off as impractical or unnecessary. Jim had assumed, from then on, that Ross preferred to handle this alone and left him to it, which, in retrospect, had been a mistake.

But this offer -

“Are you serious?” Jim breathed and Ross nodded, a faint flush springing to his cheekbones.

“I mean, I realize it wouldn’t be very practical for you. This next visit is on a work day, and with how many hours driving down here takes it’s probably unrealistic anyway, but-“

“I’ll make it happen,” Jim cut through. Ross’ uncertain, puppy-like expression was making Jim’s heart do flips in his chest, rendering the decision easier than ever to take. “I have a bunch of personal days saved up, and I need to use them anyway. Flint might throw a fit at the short notice but I don’t care.”

Ross flushed deeper, relieved and pleased. “Really? You’d come down on Friday?”

“I will.” Jim was elated and it was veering out of control: the fact that Ross had suggested this, that he presumably wanted Jim there with him and involved – informed - it felt like a victory he hadn’t even thought to look for in all this. He smiled, his eyes dancing with joy as he fought the urge to throw himself at Ross once more. “I’m so fucking glad you asked, Ross.”

The gorgeous, slightly sheepish smile Ross replied with was simply too much, and Jim gave up self-control to lung at the infuriating, beautiful, keen man in front of him and kissed him again.

He had no more words left to explain how he felt, but that couldn’t stop him from showing it.

 

 

Ross drank in everything Jim gave and returned it twofold. There were no holds barred now; any grip Jim might have had on caution or care was slipping fast as they fought to get as close as possible once again, hands seeking to touch everywhere at once and lips locked in a determined kiss.

It was glorious. Even more so when Ross grabbed hold of Jim’s hips and Jim found himself steered towards the dining table that dominated the parlor. The solid wood was smooth and unyielding and Jim hoisted himself onto it in blind hurry, one hand going right back into Ross’ messy hair and the other pulling up his t-shirt. Ross nearly tore it off of himself and then Jim’s hands were on the smooth skin of Ross’ stomach and back.

Ross moaned against Jim’s mouth, the sound needy and impassioned. He pressed in, leaning forward and bending Jim back over the table’s expansive surface. With hands better engaged than to give support, Jim had to rely on the strength of his abdominal muscles; they quivered from the strain as the kiss stormed on.

Ross struggled momentarily with Jim’s shirt before succeeding in stripping it off, and his hands slid over Jim’s chest with a mix of reverence and urgency. Then Ross transferred his hands lower and grabbed Jim’s rear in order to shift him closer, right up against his own body.

Jim had to throw out an arm this time, hooking it around the back of Ross’ neck to prevent himself from collapsing onto the table at the contact between them. Ross wasn’t helping; he stroked up Jim’s side with one open palm while the other stayed on Jim’s ass, keeping him close. They were both hard already and Jim could barely breathe as golden lights started to burst on the inside of his eyelids.

Ross lifted his mouth from Jim’s, staring down at him disheveled, bare-chested, and full of untamed arousal. “Jim, I know we’ve only just talked this through – we can stop if - “

“I don’t want to stop.” Through half-closed eyelids, Ross was a sight for extremely sore eyes and Jim thought he might go insane if they didn’t finish what they’d just started. The force of attraction between them put him in the mind of their first night, the intensity of it gut-deep and all-consuming. He surged up and resumed the kiss to make sure Ross got the message.

Ross seemed to receive it; he moaned at the rough way his mouth was being assaulted and thrust against Jim. The contact went through them both like lightning and Jim moaned, convinced that if they didn’t re-consummate their relationship right now, he might have to cause a riot. Who cared that they were still in the parlor, with the front windows of the house mere paces away? Jim definitely didn’t… as far as he was concerned, half of Cornwall could decide to drive down to Nampara today and knock on the door. He needed Ross right now. The table wasn’t ideal, sure, but it would hold him up, or both of them if need be…

Though given Ross’ leg issues, it might be worth it if they moved it somewhere more comfortable...

That decided it. Before they could go too far and make a table tryst pretty much inevitable, Jim tore his mouth from Ross’, kissing right along Ross’ jaw and to his earlobe. He sucked the little piece of flesh between his teeth and then whispered: 

“I know you’ve already given me a tour of the house, but I’d really like to have another look at the main bedroom…”

Ross stilled and then he twitched, muscles jumping under Jim’s hand on his stomach. Heat shot up Jim’s spine.

“You think we can make it there?” he added, teasing at the earlobe again.

Ross made a delicious tormented sound, his voice rough and quivering with barely maintained self-restraint. “If we hurry, yes.” To accentuate the need for haste, he peeled back from the table right away and stood aside, his eyes dark with undisguised want.

Jim slid off, swift as a marten, and Ross ushered them out of the parlor and up the stairs.

A few moments later, the bedroom door slammed shut behind them. Jim barely had time to turn towards the unmade bed before Ross tackled him onto it, rolling Jim over and coming out on top.

“God, I want you so much,” he confessed as he pressed his face against Jim’s neck, licking and kissing there. “I’ve been dying for this every night and didn’t think I’d ever get to touch you like this again-” He slotted his hips between Jim’s thighs and Jim arched up, hungry for more contact.

“I know, baby.” Ross’ lips were driving him to distraction. “I missed this – missed you - so fucking much… I don’t want to wait another minute, Ross, please…”

Ross shifted, reaching down to find the button of Jim’s jeans and undo it. Jim did the same, picking a one-handed fight with the stubborn clasps on Ross’ pants until they all yielded to his urgent tugging. Victorious, he began pulling the well-worn, faded jeans off Ross, and then his pulse suffered a sudden breakdown when he realized that Ross wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

A surprised noise escaped his throat and Ross laughed quietly above him. “I was in a hurry this morning to see if you were still here and I guess I forgot…”

Jim lifted an eyebrow at Ross’ antics, but he had to admit that it worked to their advantage now.

“That’s convenient,” he commented even as he canted his hips to make it easier for Ross to shove his own jeans and underwear down.

He let Ross’ jeans go and pressed his palm against Ross’ erection, hot and heavy and smooth against his hand. Ross’ quiet laugh died away, replaced by drawn-out moan; momentarily, his focus went to hell and he nearly fell on Jim as his elbow threatened to quit supporting him.

“I have another confession to make,” Ross blurted out, his breathing harsh and erratic as Jim took him in his hand and stroked. “I haven’t done this with anyone else all year, I haven’t-“ It was a flash of insecurity, a last admission before jumping all in, and Jim’s heart melted all over again.

“Neither have I,” he admitted truthfully. “Come on, baby, let’s start all over, better this time-“

Ross’ ribcage rose and fell rapidly. His arms were steadier now, though his biceps quivered as he held himself up, so low that one of his curls tickled Jim’s cheek.

“Whatever you want, Jim, Whatever you need, just tell me.”

“You,” Jim whispered. “I just want you.”

Ross kissed him, hard and deep.

And things went from urgent to furious.

 

 

In late afternoon sun, dust specks floated on air currents across the upstairs bedroom, a few of them settling on a pair of jeans half-dangling from the top of Ross’ dresser.

Ross staggered out of the bed, not bothering to retrieve the trousers from their precarious perch as he stepped over Jim’s clothes and reached for the window handle to throw it open. Fresh air rushed in and the dust specks took to agitated flight, whirling and zooming through the room as if suddenly getting injected with adrenaline.

Jim took a generous gulp of the incoming breeze, watching lazily as Ross returned back to their nest of mangled sheets. There was a noticeable limp on the second step before Ross collapsed on sweaty covers, crawling up to Jim’s face and looking down at him.

“Leg bothering you again?” Jim asked and Ross shook his head.

“Not more than usual.”

He sounded hoarse, and Jim smiled with satisfaction at that particular achievement. He himself was still notably out of breath after the last several hours of amazing sex; especially after the last round during which he had been the one on top, riding Ross into oblivion. Or if not oblivion, then definitely temporary loss of voice and complete exhaustion. In fact, Jim’s entire body now ached everywhere, and yet all of his muscles seemed to be thanking him for the trouble they’ve been put through.

He stretched, one hand going to the soft patch of hair on Ross’ naked stomach while a smug smile spread on his face. “Actually, I’m amazed you were able to stand up, a little while ago you looked like you might need reviving.”

Ross poked him on the shoulder. “You almost killed me, and I’m sure you’re very proud of that... Though if I died now, I’d die well fucked and happy and that’d be alright with me.”

“Don’t you dare.” Jim narrowed his eyes at him, his mouth a thin strict line. “If you kick the bucket now, I’m going straight to hell after you and dragging you right back. I’ve only just caught up with you here, don’t make me go on another wild chase.”

Ross chuckled, and the reference to their past brought no guilt or shame now. “So, I’m going to hell, huh? But I’m not planning on dying, rest assured. I’m planning on doing exactly what we’ve just been doing, as much as I possibly can, until I am old and decrepit and can’t get it up anymore.”

Jim snorted a laugh and then poked Ross in the ribs in retaliation for the earlier prod he’d received himself; Ross’ weak attempt at evasion made him grin. “You better mean that.”

“I do mean that,” Ross insisted, affectionate. “As long as you give me a little more time between each round from now on. You know. To lower the risk of my premature demise…”

Jim lifted an eyebrow and then yawned, which ruined the unimpressed look he was trying to pull off. “I guess we’re going to have to build up our stamina again, seeing as we’re both horribly out of practice.” He rolled Ross over to silence his chuckle and settled his head on Ross’ shoulder, closing his eyes and breathing in the smell of Ross’ sweat, fresh salty air, and sex that permeated the room. Ross put an arm over Jim’s back, fingers skimming over Jim’s skin in a light caress.

“Consider me signed up,” Ross murmured. “As long as I get a nap now, I’m knackered…”

It had been a rather exhausting weekend, Jim agreed in his thoughts. And yet, it had been worth it: this was the closest Jim could imagine to reaching pure, undiluted bliss.

His mind was hazy, sleep tugging at its outskirts; he was ready to succumb. A small obnoxious voice in the back of his mind tried to bring up something else - the real world outside of Nampara’s walls, next morning’s approaching responsibilities…

Jim chased the voice away with another slow exhale, and then there was silence and peace; nothing else. And Jim knew that the string of bad days had finally come to an end: next time he’d wake up it would be next to Ross and that meant, in Jim’s world, waking up happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive any mistakes :)) And I'd love to know what you think!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think :D


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